


WHOLE LIVES

by Binaryalchemist



Series: HALF LIVES, WHOLE LIVES, OUR LIVES (post-mangaverse) [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon - Anime Dub, Canon - Manga, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, Fullmetal Alchemist Ending Spoilers, M/M, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-06-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 09:11:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 138,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Binaryalchemist/pseuds/Binaryalchemist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once Edward watched his lover Mustang fall into madness avenging the<br/>death of  Hughes. Now Ed vows to help Roy heal at last-but Roy's challenge is harder even than stopping a would-be assassin from the Bradley regime: coping with Ed's kids!<br/>NOTE: Series has Very Short Chapters --written as a weekly serial series after the conclusion of the Manga and FMA Brotherhood<br/>SEQUEL TO 'HALF LIVES'<br/>Includes characters from the Fullmetal Alchemist novels by M. Inoue (published by Viz Media) and the Wii game "Fullmetal Alchemist: Prince of the Dawn" (Ruby, Pitt Renback, Prince Claudio)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WHOLE LIVES  CHAPTER 1: FLOWERS IN THE DIRT

**Author's Note:**

> CHARACTER NOTES  
> This series is set post-manga/Brotherhood--some of the characters are from some of the other official FMA releases in other media:
> 
> RUBY FROM WHITE VALLEY--protagonist of the FMA novel "Valley of White Petals" by M. Inoue, illustrated by Arakawa. She was a guard from Wisteria Valley. an enclave engineered to overthrow the Amestrian government. The coup was stopped by the Elrics and Ruby was out of a job. In this series, Roy hired her to be Ed's secretary and covert bodyguard. She and Ed have never really gotten along but she has always had a crush on Alphonse
> 
> DR. PITT RENBACK--protagonist of the FMA novel "Under The Faraway Sky" by M. Inoue, illustrated by Arakawa. He was Ed's best boyhood friend before he and Al went away to study alchemy. They loved to compete with one another at anything and everything and always argued who was taller. Pitt's father was a traveling doctor and at 13 Pitt had already apprenticed himself at a small rural clinic and had a knack for herbal medicine. In the novel, Ed was surprised and impressed with Pitt's new maturity and dedication to become a doctor. It is also revealed in the book that Pitt has loved Winry all of his young life but her obsession with Ed kept her from noticing. In the novel, 13 year old Pitt resigns himself to having lost Winry to Ed, who in turn is oblivious to Winry's obsession. Pitt is now a full fledged physician and herbalist and has applied to the Hohenheim Institute, unaware of the details of Ed and Winry's divorce...
> 
> CLAUDIO RICO AERUGO, PRINCE OF THE DAWN--from the Wii games "Fullmetal Alchemist: Prince of the Dawn" and "Fullmetal Alchemist: Daughter of the Dusk". Heir of the hereditary ruler of Aerugo,. He is tall, in his early thirties and has golden brown hair and keen blue eyes and is one of the few men who has been considered better looking than Roy Mustang. Roy is not overly fond of Claudio, his vast popularity and good looks a blow to Roy's ego. He also believes Claudio to be pompous, arrogant and conceited--traits that Roy would deny to his death ever possessing. For all that, Claudio is a shrewd politician and as masterful a manipulator as Roy. They may not like one another but there is mutual respect and cooperation.

WHOLE LIVES CHAPTER 1: "FLOWERS IN THE DIRT"  
A Sequel to HALF LIVES  
by The Binary Alchemist 2010

Somewhere underground in a Central Military Cemetery...

"GAAAAAAHHHHFUUUUUCCCKKKKK! AL!"  
"Sorry, Brother—I guess we tunneled a little further than I thought."  
It was the way the thin beam of his electric torch emphasized those ghastly vacant eye sockets, rimmed in grey-green mold, that made Edward Elric shriek like his mother had done that time she accidentally stepped on a dead mouse in the pantry in her stocking feet. He bolted upward and a shower of dirt and brittle bits of splintered old casket landed on his head. "Well, back the fuck up, will ya? This is….shit, how did I let you talk me into this?"  
Behind the black knitted cap that concealed everything but his brilliant gold eyes, Alphonse smothered a laugh. It hadn't been Al's ideal to tunnel under the fence and half way through the cemetery at three o'clock in the morning—that was Ed's bright idea. They could have simply arranged something with the caretakers to let them in before dawn-but no. It only reinforced something Ed had growled when watching Maes Hughes make an ass of himself over his daughter for the umpteeth time"Y'know, Al—love makes people stupid." And you're no exception, Ed. He clapped his hands, quickly sealed up the grave vault they had accidentally disturbed and clapped once more, tunneling through about eight feet of dirt and worms until the moonlight broke through overhead.  
"Fuckin' bastard," Ed was knuckling the dirt out of his eyes and spitting out bits of god-knows-who out of his mouth and blowing his nose vigorously. "He better hopes he dies of the flu before I come back and kill his ass."  
"He'd do it for you," Al pointed out earnestly. Ed jerked off his glove and shoved a finger up his right nostril. He snorted hard and something black and chunky came out. He made a disgusted sound. "Don't you dare flick that on me," Al warned.  
Behind the other knitted hood a sharper set of amber eyes shot daggers at his black clad companion. "It's not like it's a booger or something. It's hard. "Could be dirt…could be a metacarpal or… the tail end of the dead guy's coccyx."  
Al groaned at the pun and gestured for Ed to pipe down. "Got your compass?"  
"Yeah…lemme get our bearings….hmmmm….this way…"  
Crouching down low, the brothers made their way up the crest of the hill through an eerie landscape. "Moonlight on those head stones…kinda makes 'em look like teeth, huh?"  
"Shut up, Ed."  
Row 16, section 2. They'd made it and thankfully not drawn attention to themselves. "Good…so far, so good." Al glanced at his brother. "You've got the bundle?"  
"Yeah. Let's do this and get the fuck—"  
"Watch your language," Al hissed. "Show some respect. Remember where we are."  
Ed nodded and unzipped the small haversack he had strapped on his back A small white bundle was laid on a small marble slab carved with the wreath of honor.  
"Is it all right?"  
"Yeah. Padded it pretty good before we left so nothing's crushed."  
Edward and Alphonse stood quietly together, the warm spring air making them sweat heavily under the hoods and the sweaters and heavy black pants. "The things we do for love…" Al repeated softly.  
Ed nodded."Even when it's not your own."  
"And you're okay with this?"  
"Why wouldn't I be?"  
Al shrugged. "I don't know…I mean…it was a long time ago…"  
Ed tugged his glove back on. "You weren't there in the tunnel with Envy. You don't know…if this helps that pain—even a little-I don't have a problem with it at all."  
Al nodded, although he still wasn't quite sure he understood. "Let's go home, Brother."  
Ed hawked and was about to spit out more dirt—then remembered where he was. He spat into his glove and wiped it on the seat of his pants. "Gross." He zipped up the rucksack, laid his hand briefly on the headstone, and then headed back down the hill.  
Alphonse lingered for a moment, his fingers brushing against the name and date on the stone. "The things we do for love…."  
#  
"You WHAT?"  
"Did it. It's done." Edward padded barefoot out of the bathroom, naked except for a towel wrapped comically around his hair in a manner that looked so feminine that it negated the appeal his naked body ordinarily held for His Excellency, Fuhrer President Roy Mustang, whose head was so stopped up if he'd been inclined to give his lover a blow job he'd have died of suffocation.  
Roy Mustang sat up in bed, stared at his lover, and then snatched the bottle of pills from his nightstand. He scanned the label. It was one of those new-fangled antibiotics. Dr. Knox told him it would beat the hell out of his respiratory infection so he could finally kick this lethal flu that had him flat on his back for the better part of a week. May cause upset stomach, loose stools and nausea. Take with food. Nothing about causing hallucinations or bizarre dreams. "Edward…if you had gotten caught-"  
"—I'd have probably gotten a pissed off call from my ex-wife for getting arrested and that I'm setting a bad example for my kids….yeah, yeah, whatever."  
"And she'd have been right. The idea-Ed, I can't believe you'd do something so—"  
"So fucking important to you. And we both know why it\matters so much-and if I didn't love you and all that crap I'd have stayed home ...instead of…of…goddamn it, Roy! I had pieces of some dead guy stuck up my nose-and you're just…bitching at me!"  
In a moment of rarest insight and wisdom, Roy Mustang decided not to pry further into the significance of that last reference and instead held out his arms. "Sorry…come here…get under the covers and get warm."  
Tossing the damp towel towards the open bathroom door and missing, Ed slid under the blanket and curled up against his lover's side. "Fuck…it was almost bad as runnin' round in Gluttony's guts with Ling—'cept I was pretty sure I wasn't gonna get farted out at some point-"  
"Shut up, Ed."  
"Fuck you, Roy."  
"Gladly. Turn over."  
"Hold that thought." Ed chuckled and kissed his lover's stubbly cheek. "Let's wait until we're sure you're not contagious…and you've shaved…"  
Roy grinned in the dark and waited until Ed was almost asleep. Then he began to sing very, very softly: "The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out—the worms play pinochle on your snout…"  
"I hate you."  
#  
She had waited at the gate until the groundskeeper locked it fast, tipping his hat to her. Oh, it wasn't like he knew her name. He knew her pain. Knew it had not lessened over the years. Knew that somehow it comforted her to be here, to be close to what…remained. The marble slab was tidily swept. No weeds intruded. All was as it should be.  
He had married her on the 14th of the month. "Lucky seven twice," he told her with a soldier's logic. He had spent the night with his army buddies, but he had sworn that 'the last thing I want is the touch of another woman."  
He had placed the engraved golden band on her finger and she had never taken it off, refusing even to lay it on his breast before they covered him with dirt and left him in the dark. She would wear it until she died—because her heart was dead. She lived for her child, for Elicia and for the grandchildren she hoped would someday carry on that spark of life so brutally snuffed out by something that wasn't even human—for the sake of a man who ruled her country but never crossed the threshold of her home.  
When she and Elicia arrived, the gates hadn't been unlocked yet. "We want to be the first to visit Daddy," her daughter understood. Elicia was all a-quiver; oh how she loved these little talks with Daddy, to bring him the pretty sheaf of white lilies as was the custom in Amestris…  
"Mommy? It's there again!"  
And once again, she bit her lovely lips—those lips that had caressed every inch of his beautiful body, over and over and over, with such profound tenderness-and schooled her expression as to conceal the sickness and anger that churned inside her.  
Someone had gotten there first, after the gates were locked last night and before they opened in the morning. A thick sheaf of snowy, fragrant lilies, wrapped in white paper from the best florist in town. And buried in the heart of the bouquet was a single red rose. A galling slap in her face that made the tears well up and the anger burn like acid in the pit of her stomach.  
He loved you, Gracia. He was the most faithful of husbands and fathers—the best of friends. You were the center of his existence., the lilies proclaimed.  
And the red rose added, but we loved one another first.  
"There's no card for Daddy, sweetheart. They must have been put here by mistake" The words sounded almost calm and normal. "Go find a lonely grave and put them there—I'm sure the other person would like to be remembered too—but let me see that first." She plucked out the single red rose and as her daughter cheerfully ran between the gleaming headstones, placing individual roses on lonely tombs, she tore the flaming rose to bits, scattering the petals in the dirt….  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. FLAMES AND ASSASSINATION GAMES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet The Last Woman On Earth Ed would want as a personal assistant, discover that Political Plotting and Assassination are respected spectator sports in Aerugo and learn that there is actually one man who can out-charm Roy Mustang when it comes to the ladies: Alphonse Elric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Ruby is a main character and Raygen the villian from the FMA novel "The Valley of White Petals". The book is set in Wisteria valley. Novel pubished by Viz and written by M. Inoue  
> Prince Claudio of Aerugo is from the Wii game, "Fullmetal Alchemist: Prince of the Dawn")

WHOLE LIVES, CHAPTER 2: FLAMES AND ASSASSINATION GAMES  
A Sequel to "HALF LIVES"  
By the Binary Alchemist, 2010

"Sheska's out on leave. She's been out for a week. Her mom's back in the hospital." Ruby glared up at Ed from her typewriter in the Director of Studies office. With all the hustle-bustle of getting the Hohenheim Institute of Alchemy and Science off the ground, Sheska had walked the carpet runner threadbare racing back and forth between Roy's office and the one that would now be shared by the Elric brothers. "You'd have known that if you stuck you nose in your own office once in awhile, Professor Elric." She flipped her long black ponytail over one shoulder in a gesture of pure disdain.  
Ed's back molars began to grind against each other in frustration. "Ah…Ruby…remind me exactly how I ended up with you as my personal secretary? I don't recall considering the resumes of anyone born with congenital obnoxiousness. You're good at beating the shit out of people—I'll give you that one—but as a secretary, you suck-"  
"—now wait a damn minute—"  
"—your coffee tastes like it was strained through Alex Armstrong's boxer shorts—"  
"—why, you little—"  
"—and I don't believe Sheska trained you to answer the phone 'Ed's office—what the hell do you want?"  
"-I oughta-"  
"—shut your goddamned mouth and do your fucking job and leave me the hell alone or I'll have the pleasure of booting your bad tempered, lazy ass right out of the Institute—"  
If you had looked up the word malice in an Amestrian dictionary, it would have been illustrated with Ruby's smile. "You can't fire me, Ed. I take my orders from the Fuhrer. He brought me here from Wisteria Valley when all of us lost our jobs and our homes thanks to you and the army—"  
"—and that asshole Raygen, who you thought was the greatest thing since indoor plumbing, him and his fake-ass alchemical paradise—"  
"—which you exposed and now all of us are unemployed. So," she took a sip of hot tea, "now that we've got a real leader in this country he's trying to make good on a lot of the areas that got corrupt around here, like Ishbal and Youswell and Wisteria. I asked for work, filled out an application and Alphonse recommended me—"  
"—goddamned brother of mine," Ed growled. "He said you kissed his helmet. Damn, you're a sly one…"  
"Don't badmouth Alphonse," Ruby snapped back. "He's a gentleman. The only reason I put up with you is because you share this office. Anyway, what the hell do you want?"  
"Gimme the contact file for Aerugo from our last trip. That list of phone numbers, addresses, all that shit from the Embassy."  
Ruby snorted in amusement. "Two words, little man'hell'no' That's classified above your paygrade. Get me a written release form from Colonel Hawkeye or His Excellency and I'll turn it over."  
"Quit calling me 'little man'," Ed's eyes glinted dangerously from behind his glasses. "I'm over six feet tall, goddamn it!"  
Ruby stared at him, eye to eye, before slowly and deliberately casting her eyes in the vicinity of Edward's crotch. "Taller…is not bigger, Ed."  
#  
There were worse things than being the Castellan for Claudio Rico of Aerugo, the Prince of the Dawn.  
One might be swabbing out the lavatories as the Prince's Bath Boy, for one thing. The Palace of the Sun King was an architectural wonder, but its plumbing left much to be desired. Ever since His Highness ordered 20th century drains and flush toilets installed in the 16th century estate things had been a bit…soggy. Among themselves, the servants referred to the Palace as Mount Flushmore, and on every floor a Hall Boy was stationed with a large brass hand bell which he would ring vigorously in the event of an inevitable sewage back up or belching toilet. Whenever the Palace of the Sun hosted a particularly large delegation—like that arrogant toy soldier Mustang from Amestris and his rag-tag retinue of aeronauts, alchemists, foreigners and suchlike—there was a serious risk of the halls flooding and finding filth and bits of lavatory paper floating in one's bath.  
Indeed, it was better to be the Palace Castellan than be the Bath Boy and relegated to mopping floors, scrubbing backs and washing the Royal Anus. Anus washing was not part of Castellan Bacalla's job requirements. All he had to do was kiss it.  
Metaphorically, one should clarify.  
One's duties included seeing to the Royal Chamber and insuring that His Highness' needs were anticipated and attended to at all times. This morning—yet again—this meant fetching out the ever-growing pile of used handkerchiefs from Prince Claudio's bedside. This was a somewhat loathsome task, as they were clotted with greenish goo and if they had not been woven of the finest Aerugoan linen and hand embroidered with the Royal Crest he'd have tossed them on the rubbish tip without so much as a fare-thee-well. Instead, he slipped on two pairs of gloves when he attended his master's bedside in hopes that whatever nastiness the Amestrians had brought with them did not infect Bacalla himself. After all, he contemplated, the country can tick along quite smoothly without a Crown Prince—but the Palace would simply fall to chaos and ruin without its Castellan. Even the Sun King knew it in his dotage, ordering Bacalla to 'manage' Prince Claudio from boyhood so His Arrogancy might have a prayer of becoming a worthy monarch in future—providing he survived whatever loathsome disease he had contracted at the hands of the Amestrian assassins.  
"Well, of course it was an assassination attempt, dolt!" he snapped at Baldric, recently elevated from Bath Boy to Hall Boy, who was spit-shining the Prince's high boots in the kitchen. He made a mental note not to touch those without two pairs of gloves either. "Is anyone else ill like His Highness? Take into consideration the timing of his collapse. It was within days of the departure of the Xerxes—and note that Mustang has been conspicuously silent since his return to Amestris."  
"Well…if someone's attempting to do in the Prince, shouldn't we get all up in arms over this?" Baldric sighed. "I mean—it's not like there's a dance card full of half blood bastards out there to get tapped in his place…"  
Bacalla shook his head. "I'm not fond of him, but I daresay he's got a keen head on his shoulders and the people love him. He'll do better than some of those syphilitic ancestors of his. I suppose we need to be sure he pulls through and then fret about revenge later." He sighed heavily and laved his hands again and again before splashing them in a basin of alcohol. Wouldn't do to get a bit of the infected Royal Snot anywhere upon his person.  
Baldric brightened up considerably. "Oooh! You mean you get to send me out to do someone in? Can it be Edward Elric? Please, sir, let me do in Edward Elric! Every time that bastard took a shower all that long blonde hair of his clogged the drains and we had sewage backing up for days—and then he'd bitch about the smell." He hawked, spat and buffed the leather energetically.  
Bacalla sighed heavily. "Nobody's killing anybody, Baldric." He dried his hands carefully and slipped on a fresh pair of kidskin gloves. "Not yet…."  
#  
In the end, Alphonse was too upset to touch his cupcake.  
"Make it stop, Alphonse! Please…for the love of god….this is breaking my heart and it's hurting my child. Make it stop…Make him stop…."  
How in the world-?  
She's really hurting. But maybe Roy is, too. I know he feels like he is responsible for Mr. Hughes dying the way he did…and he's admitted to me that he was very much in love with Mr. Hughes. Both of them have lost someone who meant everything to them. Both of them have every right to grieve. Does Roy even realize how much pain he's causing Miss Gracia? And does she know how much Roy loved him—even if Mr. Hughes didn't feel quite the same way after the war? His head began to throb. Stress migraines were one of the unpleasant parts of having a body again. Brother says now I'm 'too goddamned sensitive'. Maybe he's right…  
He had returned to Il Gattina after leaving Gracia's flat, but this time the luscious swirls of frosting didn't make his mouth water. "Coffee, please."  
The pretty girls behind the counter exchanged worried glances. Mr. Alphonse never ordered coffee. That was more to the taste of Mr. Edward, who would usually wolf down a half dozen cookies or so to go with it or half a strawberry cheesecake. He only ordered coffee if he had a headache. "Mr. Alphonse," Sophie ventured politely, "are you feeling all right?"  
Alphonse massaged his temples and smiled ruefully. "Oh, it's just a little bit of a headache—could be the spring allergies-"  
The ladies behind the counter were up in arms.  
"Oh, sir! Let me get you an aspirin gushed Lottie  
"—let me make you a cold compress Kate began spooning cracked ice into a clean tea towel.  
"-I'll rub your shoulders—that always helps!" Sophie elbowed her sisters out of the way.  
Alphonse laughed gently and lifted his hands to protest. "Ladies! Thank you—but the coffee will be fine." They were all so pretty, like bright butterflies with their apron sashes tied in great bows at their backs. He sighed a little sigh of delight. Women are so wonderful…there is no such thing as a woman who isn't beautiful, even if she's ninety. He shook his head slightly and grimaced. Daydreaming about pretty girls was not going to solve the problem at hand. I don't even know how to discuss this with Roy. But…on the other hand…didn't he discuss Ed with me? If he could trust me that much, maybe I can find a way…  
#  
"Gram Negative bacterial pneumonia." Dr. Knox slapped the Fuhrer's medical chart down on Roy's bedside table. "Damn good thing you're not allergic to the beta-lactam penicilliums. And I want you to know," he added, biting down on the filter of an unlit cigarette, "that this is something I've only seen in textbooks. You're lucky to be alive, Roy."  
Mustang nodded. His fever had broken last night and it had been a comfort to have Ed there. His lover had given him a bed bath, changed his sheets and pajamas and watched over him all night. When Dr. Knox arrived, he told Roy that he needed to run down to his office and would be back before tea. Roy grinned, imagining the comical clash of titans as Ed and Ruby locked horns again. Ruby had been a refugee of Wisteria Valley and unbeknownst to Ed had trained under Hawkeye's supervision as a personal bodyguard. "But he's an evil little bastard and he pisses me off!" the dark haired girl had protested. "I thought he was all right until I started running into him here in Central. He's as immature as ever."  
Roy smiled at her slyly. "You'd do it for Alphonse, wouldn't you? You'd protect Ed so his little brother wouldn't worry, right?"  
Ruby had gotten a crush on Al back in his armor days. Now that such a gentle soul was now packaged in a tall, extremely attractive body, she joined the ever-lengthening line of women thoroughly smitten by the young Aeronaut-Alchemist. She would work directly under Hawkeye's supervision-and Ed would never be the wiser…  
"….that's all I'm saying—Roy! Are you even listening to me?"  
Roy's attention snapped back to his doctor. "Ah…sorry. Would you remind repeating that last part?"  
"I said that I'm more than a little suspicious that you caught something so atypical—and so hard to treat. I mean it, Roy. You didn't…."  
Roy's eyes narrowed. "Didn't what?"  
"Didn't…consort with any…?"  
"Any what, Owen?"  
"Anything…Aerugoan. Possibly with a vagina?"  
Roy peered up at his old friend over the rims of his reading glasses. "Even if I had been so inclined every female with a pulse between fifteen and fifty was panting after Alphonse….or the Crown Prince." He sighed comically. "To think that my good looks and charm went completely unnoticed-quite a blow to my ego. I've always found Claudio to be an arrogant bastard, and the way women claw each other's eyes out to get his attention is really quite beyond my comprehension."  
"So you didn't fuck around on Ed."  
"I wouldn't fuck around on Ed." His smile became sly and sensual as he remembered a particular wild night making love on a marble terrace under a full moon when the night was warm enough for Roy to coax his lover out of doors. Of course, he hadn't taken into consideration the guards on the palace rooftop might start shooting at the sound of Ed whimpering on his knees—"Sorry, Signor Mustang—we thought it was a wounded animal—perhaps one of the guard dogs had captured a rabbit or something". No, he had no intention of roaming anymore and was a trifle miffed that Knox would suggest Roy was still living up to his carefully cultivated randy reputation.  
"Stop beating around the bush. What the hell is your point—if you have one?"  
Knox looked severe. "This wasn't a bug you'd catch anywhere. Roy. This was—"  
Roy slapped the side of the table in irritation. "Don't tell me you're going to chime in on this whole assassination conspiracy crap? After all we've done over the years to come this far securing a peace treaty with Aerugo? Are you out of your mind, man? And may I remind you that Bradley plotted to have Colonel Hawkeye assassinate Claudio—told her that she was going to pull the trigger, and that bullet was going either into Claudio's head or mine. My job," he banged his fist again for emphasis, "is to build bridges between Amestris and her enemies. I don't care if it kills me—and I'm not fool, Owen. I know it probably will. Very few Presidents die quietly in bed. But it's worth it. I'm thinking about the future-and the future is more important than me catching a little cold. So," he pointed a warning finger at his personal physician, "I am telling everybody—you, Hawkeye, Ed, Alphonse, whoever—to let this drop. All we need is some crisis of trust and everything I've worked so hard for will go straight to hell. Am I clear about this, Knox?"  
The two war veterans locked furious eyes at one another for what seemed like an eternity. At last, Knox lowered his gaze in defeat. "Fine," he muttered, closing his black bag with a snap. "Die if you want to."  
"If I have to. There's a difference," Roy countered quietly. "If that's what it takes for Amestris to have peace."  
"Easy to die for your country, boy. Takes a real leader to learn how to live for it."  
#  
How many times have I told my daughter that if she makes a mistake and does what she can to put things right that she needs to learn from it and move on?  
Her hands shook a little when she placed Elicia's pretty tussy-mussy—so thoughtful of dear Alphonse!—in a holder in front of Maes' picture. He never told me—never said anything about what happened on the battlefield or when they were cadets together, other than saving Roy's life when that Ishballan classmate of theirs shot him in the chest, how Roy had been so devastated by the war he couldn't sleep and began drinking and not eating and how he had to work so hard to keep Roy focused—to keep his spirit up so he'd come home-  
But come home to…what? Roy never had a steady sweetheart, just a long string of other men's girlfriends chasing him down. He never married, and in the end he had taken a male lover—whom he'd met when Ed was still a child.  
Had something physical happened between Maes and Roy Mustang? She knew such things were not impossible during wartime. But the way Maes had gathered her up in his strong arms at the station that day they came home to cheering crowds. "Gracia, sweetheart—I want to introduce you to the best friend I've ever had," Maes had told her eagerly after they could tear their eyes away from one another. "Roy—Roy? Where…Hey, Roy! Where are you? He was with me when we got off…where did he go?" Maes had turned to her-and Roy had disappeared. It was a pattern that continued to this day.  
Those flowers…the roses. She glanced up at the picture Maes had loved so much, of two fresh faced boy soldiers in uniform on the day of graduation. "Are you trying to hurt me, Roy?" she asked aloud to the faces before her. "Or are you trying to hurt Maes for leaving you behind?"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	3. ABSTINENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphonse is eager to take off for a summer in Drachma--but Ed refuses to leave Roy, still recovering from his mysterious illness. Ed is also refusing to let Roy 'overtax himself' in the bedroom--and it's driving his lover quietly berserk. Meanwhile, Gracia finally resolves to get some answers about her husband and the Flame Alchemist--from the one person she is certain will not lie to her....

WHOLE LIVES, Chapter 3: Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder  
By The Binary Alchemist 2011

It was one week to departure for Drachma and the battered brown suitcase was still shoved in the back of Ed's closet. "Well, that's a first," Alphonse mused, wisely keeping his mouth shut. During Ed's brief marriage the valise was never fully unpacked and was prone to be yanked out, stuffed with clean boxers, snapped shut and thrown under the seat of a late night train at the first hint of a squabble on the wind.  
Al's bags had been packed for weeks in anticipation of this historic voyage to what had once been enemy territory. Eager letters had flown back and forth between the Elric brothers and their friends and colleagues in Drachma, describing the splendors of Stoltovgrad, sketches of the rustic dacha they would call home for the summer, and detailing the intriguing wildlife they would encounter on the outskirts of the city. "Fish so plentiful they will jump over your line and into the boat—and rabbits so fat and lazy they will lie down beside the morning milk on the doorstep and beg to be stewed with onions," Alexi told him excitedly, but added that he was quite sure that Alphonse would not mind joining him on a little hunting of the local quarry near the Volga bridge on lazy summer evenings. "The most delicious quarry in the whole of Stoltovgrad-devotchkas."  
I'm not much for blood sports, Al had written back, not wanting to offend his friend. I enjoy fishing, but ever since my training I really hate having to hunt animals for dinner if I don't have to.  
Oh, Alphonse would not be able to resist, his Drachman friend wrote back. "They are small and have soft, downy fur—they come out after dark and when you see them you must follow them until you are deep into the bush and then with your well oiled weapon you must shoot again and again until you are out of ammunition—but remember, whatever you shoot, you must eat. But there is no meat sweeter or juicier than a devotchka."  
If they are that delicious then I'll taste it, Al responded enthusiastically. He'd heard that Drachman cuisine was exceptional and was eager to find out for himself. I bet brother would like to eat a devotchka or two himself.  
Alexi hastily scribbled back that Ed might not find Devotchka Manda to his liking " based upon what I know of Edward. I suspect the local dish salupa with a side order of mudya accompanied with cream sauce would be more to his liking—I'm sure Pyotir can advise a good chef who might be up to it."  
He hadn't thought these menu items worth mentioning to Ed, whose richly profane vocabulary would have sent the elder Elric packing in the direction of the nearest translator, deeply suspicious that the mischievous Tovarich had just pulled a good one over on his naïve kid brother. Instead Alphonse packed some worn clothing that would be comfortable and sturdy boots for chasing devotchkas in the meadows on a warm summer night. "My friend, you will lick your lips and fingers after diving in to a steaming, juicy Devotchka Manda."  
Whatever the hell Devotchka Manda was, Al couldn't wait to eat one…  
#  
:"Fuck it. I don't wanna go."  
Roy glanced up at Edward from behind the pile of papers that threatened to topple and bury him neck deep. Two days out of bed and he was hopelessly behind. Granted, with the return of power to the Parliament and the rise of the new democracy the Fuhrer President was no longer the grand puppeteer of the Amestrian Government, yanking strings when subordinates got out of line and cutting them at the first suggestion that someone dared to challenge him for power. He was hardly a figurehead, though, and while the Parliament generally supported him it was rarely without heated debate. It was both exhilarating and exhausting and he was paler than he normally was and thinner than he should have been. He'd laughed during the press conference, offering his most disarming boyish grin while admitting that his enthusiasm for travel in Al's airship had gotten the better of him. "Got up in the Xerxes and it was colder than I had bargained for. And like most men—you ladies will vouch for this as truth, won't you?—I was a very bad patient. A head cold became a stubborn chest cold. It took the combined threats of my personal physician and the esteemed Dr Chen from the Xingian delegation to…ahem….persuade me to stay in bed and let their remedies work. I have made a full recovery, and Dr. Knox has finally allowed me to return to the current Parliamentary session before the Summer Recess…"  
"….you can't bullshit me, Mustang. Your blood test may look okay, but you're weak as a kitten and…and….damn it, I can't trust you to take care of yourself."  
Roy folded his arms across his chest. One corner of his mouth lifted in an ironic grin. "Says the man who had to be cuffed to the bed rails by Dr. Knox when he was flat on his back with a skull fracture—or have you forgotten that little incident?"  
Edward opened his mouth to fire back a few choice insults, then wisely clamped it shut. Ed hadn't behaved well under sedation and had threatened to boot the Fuhrer's personal physician so hard up the arse that Knox would be able to taste the machine oil Ed used to lubricate his automail toes. "He let me go after a few hours," Ed mumbled under his breath. "I still don't think—"  
"—and it takes a real man to admit that, Ed. I'm proud of you. Now if we can just train you not to belch during state dinners and not to leave the seat up if you have to relieve yourself in the middle of the night, I might just be able to trust you not to cause any international incidents and heap shame and disgrace upon this administration as a scientific ambassador to the Czar's Imperial Court in Stvetlanistok—"  
"—you know what, jackass? Why don't you go fuck yourself?"  
"A splendid idea. Certainly more enjoyable than signing requisition forms and reading the tedious minutes of the last three judiciary committee meetings." A gloved finger jabbed at the call button on his office intercom. "Sebastian? Lunch in fifteen minutes. Large bowl of whatever soup's on the menu and a basket of hot rolls….with extra butter."  
"EXTRA BUTTER?" Ed spluttered furiously, appalled that his lover would avail himself of Ed's—no, their—favorite shared lubricant for his own gratification with no thought to Ed's personal needs, which he had held at bay during Roy's convalescence.  
A rude gesture and Edward stalked out the door, nearly running over Colonel Hawkeye on the way out. He stomped his way down the steps—then paused, reversed direction and shouldered his way through the swinging kitchen doors.  
Cigarette dangling between tight lips, Chef Ramsay's carving knife seemed to be flying in every direction as he laid into a massive baron of beef destined for slow braising in red wine with bay leaves. His eyes never left his handiwork. "Yeah?"  
"He changed his mind. Screw the soup. Give him pastrami on rye with extra kraut."  
Ramsay's expression didn't change. "He's been on soup for weeks."  
"Yeah, well, he's fuckin' sick of it. Wants some real damn grub for a change. Oh, and instead of butter, send up a crock of hot mustard." Outwardly nonchalant, Ed was snickering wickedly behind is carefully schooled expression of chronic impatience. Son of a bitch can't resist pastrami on rye…he's gonna get the worst damn heartburn. And wait until he pops the top off that crock of hot mustard. Sure as shit won't be greasing up his dick with that, heh heh…. "Gimme a ham sandwich."  
Ramsay eyed him with the usual contempt he held for anyone who couldn't tell the difference between Aerugoan barbaresco villages and Cretan retsinia. "Get it yourself." He jerked his head towards the cart of wrapped sandwiches, salads, packets of crisps and pretzels, pickles, sweets and jugs of cold teas, iced sodas and hot coffee that would be delivered to the break room for the secretarial staff who would spend their lunch hour gathered around listening to Midday Amestris on Radio Capital. Ed grabbed a sandwich, shoved it in his jacket pocket along with a handful of ginger cookies and a bottle of pop and the doors banged behind him. "Stupid git." Ramsay shook his head. "Sauerkraut—and pastrami. Damn. Mustang'll be farting holes out the back of his office chair, he eats that. Shows what you know about romance, idjit…"  
#  
Havoc belched frankly. "Mmmmmmboyyyy…." he muttered around a big mouthful of kraut and pastrami, "I'm gonna regret eating this."  
Riza's right eyebrow lifted a fraction. "I am going to regret you eating that." A slice of tomato attempted to slither out of her BLT and she tucked it neatly beneath the bread before taking another bite.  
Jean saluted her with a grin. "That's the way of a Presidential bodyguard," he boasted. "I'm silent—"  
"—but deadly." Roy spooned up another plump bit of fish from Ramsay's excellent chowder, well fortified with a shot of sherry wine to give it a bit more oomph. "And if you find yourself stricken with cabbage-induced flatulence again, Major, I will make good on my threat to hang you ass-first out the office window and snap my fingers, treating the citizens of Central to the most impressive display of pyrotechnics since my inauguration celebration."  
He contemplated the small crock of butter beside his plate.  
Then he mentally contemplated his lover, naked and sweating and cursing for Roy to hurry, damn you!, as he leisurely slicked himself , dipping his fingers into the sweet cream butter that Sebastian thoughtfully kept replenished by their bed in a cunning water filled butter bell that kept it soft and fresh at room temperature. Took a lot of alchemy to get the greasy stains out of the sheets but it was worth it just to see Edward down on his knees, lapping the fast-melting goodness off the head of his cock.  
His trousers were becoming tighter than they should. Ed had been so afraid for Roy, scared of tiring him, scared of hurting him, purposely limiting their lovemaking to nothing more taxing than a blow or hand job. Ed would be flying out on the Xerxes in less than 72 hours, all protests to the contrary. A promise had been made to their new allies in Drachma. Ed would be on that airship if Roy had to have Hawkeye escort him at gunpoint.  
Roy would be fine. Desperately horny and lonelier than he cared to admit, but he'd be fine. Providing, of course, that he could get Ed to consent to some teeth-rattling, sheet ripping, bed-slat breaking, mattress soaking fucking before he left. The kind they used to have before his illness. The kind he and Maes—  
Don't go there, a voice in his head reminded him. Rising hastily he turned his attention to the park below, dappled now with thick clumps of flowering shrubbery and magnolia trees that lent a heady sweetness to the spring air. He had missed the blooming of the magnificent Xingese cherry trees this year. A small one had been planted in the private Sanctuary garden at the new Palace, which was hidden from prying eyes by a thick hedge tall enough to give Ed and Roy some solitude out in the open. Roy had wanted to lie with his younger lover under the spring moon, delicate pink petals raining gently on their bare skin. He had spent the Blossom Nights coughing up blood and half mad with fever and Edward was exhausted and frightened of losing him.  
I'm strong enough, Roy determined. I'll have to prove it to him, because I will be good and goddamned if I let him go without-  
In the park below he sighted a familiar flash of golden hair. A tall man, tie half undone and waistcoat unbuttoned, was tearing off bits of his sandwich, tossing them to a hungry stray that pawed at his knee. Typical. He smiled in spite of himself. He'll be starving when he gets home. I'll suggest we have a picnic supper in the Sanctuary Garden, just the two of us.  
He rang for his butler again. "Sebastian? Have Ramsay put together a hamper for a private supper—no, that will be for two. Oh—a couple of cold chickens, some fresh buns and butter, some wine and cheese-brie and golden apples? That'll be fine. Oh, and make sure you pack all the proper…condiments. No, I'm not sure that would be enough. A crock…and a stick of butter along with everything else. I like my buns…well buttered, as you are well aware, Sebastian. That will do-oh, dessert?" A vision of Hot Buttered Elric made him bite his lover lip in frustration. "No, thank you. Edward will be providing dessert. That will be all."  
#  
"Oh, gowan…here." Edward had gotten maybe two good bites out of his ham sandwich before that damned mutt came around again. It always happened whenever he frequented this particular bench at lunchtime. The stray had a russet coat with a darkish muzzle and a dark blaze on the crown of his head. He'd sidle up to Edward, eventually laying his head on the young man's knee with a soft whine of entreaty. Ed hadn't finished his luncheon in weeks but he wasn't particularly worried about it. God knows the suppers were plentiful at the Palace and if his stomach rumbled there were always those sausage carts in the square that Breda frequented or sweets from the vending machines—Ed never could resist the urge to give the candy dispenser a surreptitious kick in hopes that a double portion of chocolate would drop down the chute for him.  
He had buried his fingers behind the floppy ears, scratching vigorously when Gracia Hughes approached him, smiling a little and holding out a bakery bag from Il Gattina. "That was very kind of you to share your lunch with him. I can at least share some dessert with you. You like crullers, don't you? These are nice and hot and I can't eat them all myself. Here."  
Ed smiled, scooted over and dusted off some stray leaves from the other half of the bench. "Hey, thanks, Gracia! You doin' okay? Al says he saw you a couple days ago and said you…well…that you were kinda…y'know…feelin' kinda…down." Seeing her hesitate, he lifted a hand in apology. "I mean…not trying to stick my nose in your business…but if you got a problem, you know Al and I…there's nothing we wouldn't do to help you, y'know?"  
Gracia felt the prickle of tears. She blinked them back and smiled gently at her companion. He is so, so good…so kind…Alphonse is such a dear, but Edward—there's nobody quite like him. All those scowling faces and that sharpness, just to hide such a tender, loving heart. Can't stand to see a child cry. Can't bear to let a stray go hungry.  
….can't stand to see a friend suffer.  
She drew a shuddering breath and laid a trembling hand on his arm. "Maybe you can help, Edward. It's…it's about Roy. Roy…and Maes."  
Her hand tighted. Edward studied the pain in her eyes. "Fuck the crullers," he said softly. "We need beer."  
….TO BE CONTINUED


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris Mustang is seeing the danger signs—her Roy-Boy could be subconsciously sabotaging his love for Ed by obsessing on unfinished business with Hughes—and Gracia seeks out Edward for the truth at last.

WHOLE LIVES, Chapter 4" Madame" Mother Knows Best  
a sequel to "Half Lives"  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2011  
In love and war, Roy Mustang was a master strategist. And as he had not had sufficient love—well, not with the preferred intensity that suited his nature—since his recent illness, Roy was hard at work, crafting a campaign of seduction guaranteed to silence any panicked protest from Edward that Roy needed to conserve his strength to insure a complete recovery.  
Frankly, it would be worth a few days flat on his back if he could get Edward to throw caution to the wind and throw Roy to the ground fuck him senseless again, just the way Maes used to-  
Stop…stop right there. Roy shook his head to clear it. Maes is dead…and Edward is…  
"Edward is…everything."  
One glance at his young lover-immersed in some moldy tome on alchemic theory with his glasses halfway down his nose and oblivious to the world-and a rich warmth spread through Roy's chest that scotch whiskey couldn't match. Roy would never admit it out loud, but he privately cherished the many small, unconscious gestures of Ed's affection that were far more eloquent than the gushing and swooning of the countless women who would have gleefully clawed Edward's eyes out to take his place at the President's side. That little grumble of contentment as Roy fitted himself into the curve of Ed's back at bedtime. The playful slap across his shoulder in passing. The morning ritual of straightening Roy's aiguillette and collar before going down to breakfast, always followed by a smug, possessive grin and a teasing, "not bad for an old man". These were among the small things that declared affection more than 'the slop and sonnets and shit" that Ed found annoying in romance.  
That—and the scrap of paper, torn out of the margin of one of Ed's travel journals. It was dog-eared from being folded and refolded and now was tucked into a small leather slipcase designed for calling cards that fit unobtrusively in Roy's breast pocket. It held a photograph of the two of them taken by Alphonse—relaxed and laughing on the terrace of Prince Claudio's villa, toasting one another in blood dark wine, the pale winter sunshine glinting off his lover's hair. Roy kept that photo close, along with the bit of foolscap that bore a single sentence:  
"Love you, Bastard".  
Like a talisman, Roy wore it over his heart to keep the ghosts of his past at bay. For the most part, the steady warmth of his new relationship filled up the dark and lonely corner of his still-healing psyche. He was not so foolish as to view his life with Edward through the jaundiced eyes of a man jilted by his best friend for the sake of a woman he could not bring himself to care for, as much as Maes would have wanted him to.  
But now and again, stiletto sharp and just as swift, the old pain would catch him off guard. He went to great lengths to avoid things that would trigger the memories—averting his eyes while passing a certain phone booth, avoiding certain corridors that had been smeared with his lover's blood. Most of the time he was fine. Some of the time, the 14th of the month, in particular, he wasn't. On those days, on Maes' birthday and the anniversary of his murder, the memories preyed on him, stalked him through his dreams and made him cry out in his sleep. Edward, having seen Roy turn from man to murderous beast in the tunnels under central, understood without a word and held him tighter on those nights and during his illness had personally seen to it that the floral tributes were laid with reverence upon that stone Roy had wept and cursed and mourned over.  
On the 14th of the month all the what-ifs and might-have-beens and if-onlys hunted Roy Mustang, harrying him into a corner somewhere in the dark where even Edward's love couldn't keep him safe…  
You left me—you pulled your cock out of my body and thrust it into hers…you didn't notice that I didn't shower before your wedding, did you? That under my dress uniform my knees were grimy and my thighs and buttocks were sticky from the countless times you poured yourself into me, groaning my name. I should have let Gracia smell your musk on my fingers—should have shown her the bites on my neck and shoulders. Couldn't she smell you on me? Or did she even notice?   
You must have washed my smell off your skin, Maes, or she would have left you at the altar. Some minty gargle kept her from tasting my come on her bridal kiss. That's why you told me 'no marks', huh, Maes?  
You tormented me all those years after your wedding, all those drunken bivouacs and training games when you'd show up in my tent in the middle of the night with a bottle of cheap booze and I'd swear to myself that nothing would happen…but you'd tease me, sitting there with your shirt half off, talking about sex, talking about the good old innocent days when we were lovers. About how incredible those nights were. About how you'd never have gotten through without me. How there was nothing—nothing—in this world you wouldn't do for me, and that you would always have my back.  
You skirted around the word, didn't you? I didn't. I never did. I wasn't afraid to tell the truth. You thought…you were afraid…that if you said those words it would ruin your goddamned 'beautiful future'.   
The one you could have shared with me.  
But the one risk you couldn't take was to turn your back on What Was Expected for a career military officer—the regulation Wife and Children and 'stable family environment'. You bought into the whole Amestrian Dream, Maes.   
Me? I was raised the foster son of a whore. The Amestrian Dream was a crock of bullshit filled to overflowing with lies and infidelity. I chose to be true to myself.  
And so when you would come to my tent I had to fight so hard to stay this side of sober, otherwise I'd give in to those kisses that reeked of scotch- and when your hand dropped casually down between my legs to squeeze and fondle what had belonged to you all along, I would have begged for it…demanded it.  
You'd stand there, swaying and slurring your words about you'd never forgotten how good it could be between us, standing before me as I sat on the edge of my cot. Your cock would be straining against your trousers, inches from my face. So close I could smell it, feel the heat of it through your clothes, imagine it pulsing on my tongue. I hadn't tasted it since the day you married her. I licked my lips unconsciously and you would stare at me with those strange green eyes of yours, half focused but conveying everything you wanted me to know about this moment and what you would be willing to deceive yourself into believing could be 'just one of those things that happen, y'know? I mean…we were pretty goddam drunk…"  
You wanted me to do it. To make you do it, If I took your cock out and wrapped my arms around your hips, you wouldn't be able to keep from thrusting, would you, Maes? Hitting the back of my throat so hard you'd nearly choke me, my nose buried in your tight curls, getting so drunk off the smell of you…it's not like you would have done it on purpose, right? And once you were swollen to near bursting, the veins standing out, the loose hood all the way back and the hot salt-bitterness on my tongue, I would have gotten down on my knees and spread myself wide and torn at those flat mildewed army pillows with my clenched teeth while you slowly pushed that thickness into me. Those huge hands would bruise my hips and you'd damn near lift me off my knees, riding me, molding my body to your need. It wouldn't be like it was with Gracia—all gentleness and tender kisses. You would have rooted inside me like an animal—no posies or flowered bedspreads or pretty nighties. You'd have fucked me in the dirt, under the open sky or in a flimsy tent with a legion of soldiers camped around us.  
And you would know…it would never be better than this. Not with that woman, Not ever.  
You'd have slapped my ass and ground into me, biting hard and cursing out your bliss and I would have gloried in it .spattering the filthy blankets without your hand on my cock, grinding back, bucking and arching my back and groaning your name into the mattress or the bare earth or whatever was bruising my knees. I would have been oblivious to all but the driving heat inside my body and you sobbing out my name..   
A few more shots…and even more drunken kisses…and we would have done it again. And again.  
…IF I had said yes…but I didn't.  
And you died for me. And there was no God that could comfort me or make me forget.   
And in the end, there was no revenge.  
Roy had buried himself in Duty and Country. It wasn't enough and he didn't know it wasn't enough until Edward Grew Up and took his breath away.  
It was never like this with Maes. Never this kind of playful openness and relaxed companionship. We are on the same side. Even the bickering had its own satisfaction, and Roy often aggravated Edward simply for the sheer entertainment value of it.  
And as far as sex was concerned…Edward was a fast study, indeed. He was gaining confidence, was learning to give as well as he got and occasionally surprised Roy by taking the initiative with obvious enthusiasm that made up for his lack of experience. It was good with Edward. Fantastically good. But he was too young to know—too inexperienced to comprehend yet—that there was something he needed to give to his older, wounded lover that Hughes had known all along: that the stronger the man, the greater the need to let go of control.  
Edward may not have figured this out yet, but Chris Mustang had made her money from the sweat of her back and the shrewd study of the masculine mind. She knew Roy had a knack for sabotaging his own happiness and for once she would be good and goddamned if she was going to let it happen again.  
Four days before departure, Ed had stopped by Chris Mustang's supper club to say goodbye—and to devour a slab of rare sirloin as big as Alex Armstrong's left butt cheek. He'd mentioned, in passing, that he'd stopped by the cemetery on the way in and commented that Roy's flowers had been removed from Hughes' grave and that it was a fucking waste of money to dump a half a ton of lilies and roses on a grave only to have them stolen.  
If Roy was still putting flowers on Maes' grave every month, the old woman reasoned, then something was very wrong in her little boy's head—and she's straighten his moody ass out before he wrecked the hell out of his relationship with Edward.  
It was Roy's misfortune to have a florist's bill on his desk when his foster mother arrived for her little chat, a bill for hundred of cens worth of floral arrangements and each delivery was noted The State Military Cemetery, Central "Lotta money on flowers, boy," she observed sharply. "You been sending more flowers to a dead man than you ever sent to a live woman. A man that wasn't even yours. People talk, boy. Think you're some kinda pervert."  
"I have no idea what you're talking about."  
Either he's the best goddamn poker player in Central or he's lying to himself, Chris Mustang decided, keenly observing that her boy's expression was so cool that Ed would have accused him of having ice cubes up his sphincter.  
"Some fellows like to get tied up or spanked…used to be a General—oh, must have been ten years back—liked to have curtain cords tied around his nuts while he got down on his knees and licked a woman's boots—"  
Roy's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. A slight flare to his nostrils. "How interesting. Most generals sit around playing chess and gossiping about the brassiere cup size of the newest recruits in the secretarial pool. At least Grumman did. A boring lot."  
"It's a common kink among kings and Presidents, son," Unfazed by his look of carefully schooled nonchalance, she lit another cigarette and smiled a little at the memories of how the Great and Powerful of Central had sported in her brothel. "Oh, cut the crap, boy. I can read you like a book. You're not a pervert—contrary to what a few of your colleagues have said behind your back—"  
His voice was low and angry now.—wait one damn minute—"  
"—but you've got a little kink and you're damned embarrassed about it and you need to get the fuck over it and talk to your man about it, goddamn it!"  
"I have no idea what you—"  
"You have the whole world turning to you," the old woman cut him off, "wanting you to run the show, call the shots-and you think to yourself, 'goddamn it, I don't want to do this shit. Let somebody else take the wheel'. You loved Hughes as your friend…but if you're honest what got you off was that he could make you lose control. He obviously fucked you into oblivion and out of your own head—and for a little while you could just surrender and let go." She took a deep drag off her cigarette and her grin was wreathed in smoke. "That Edward, now—he's the same way. Bet things went really sour when his wife got with the begging and the guilt for him to take care of her needs…somewhere in his head he was thinkin' it was one more responsibility, one more job to do…and then here comes Roy Mustang who fucks him senseless and gives and gives and never asks a thing, who loves but doesn't say shit—he shows it. You rocked Ed's world, boy—and if you give him time and be patient, he'll do the same for you."  
A knowing smirk. "Indeed."  
"All right—so why are you still putting' lilies on a dead man's grave and carrying on like Widow Hughes?"  
The smirk evaporated "I'm showing respect for my best friend."  
"Wrong, Roy-Boy." A cigarette punctuated her words for emphasis. "You ain't done with him—and lemme tell you something, son. You keep on like this and you're gonna lose the best thing that's ever happened to you. So get the hell out of here, get your shit together and get this done. You hear me, boy?"  
Roy made a dismissive gesture. 'I have. And if you'll excuse me, Aunt Chris, I have a meeting with my personal physician in fifteen minutes and he is inclined to rant and rave at tedious length if I am late. It was good to see you, Ma'am. Good afternoon."  
The last thing Chris Mustang expected in the middle of the afternoon rush was to see Edward Elric stroll into her restaurant with the widow of Maes Hughes. "Aunt Chris? Uh…I need to use one of the, umm, you know…one of the private dinning rooms."  
She nearly bit her filter tip in half. "Private dining" was a Gilded Age euphemism for "a place for rich folks to fuck in splendor well away from the missus." On Ed's recent birthday her son had made a very expensive mess out of the red velvet chaise in Room Five, its costly upholstery soaked with melted butter. It reeked of sweat and semen, was dappled with dried on splotches of chocolate rum mousse and there were rips in the velvet cushions that could only have been made by automail toes digging in and clawing in frantic ecstasy. A quick alchemic handclap had put it to rights, so she had no complaint if the boys humped the stuffing out of the cushions again on some special occasion….but what the fuck was Ed doing bringing that Hughes woman into these rooms?  
Madame Mustang hesitated. The Hughes woman looked pale and shaken, her eyes brimming with tears and was hanging on to Edward's arm as if he was the one still point in a world spinning so fast it threatened to throw her off. Reaching under the counter, she dug into the secret drawer that held a handful of ornate brass keys, each bearing an enameled medallion matching the numbers on the doors of the Private Dining wing. Okay, let 'em have their privacy. Don't know if he's going to fuck her or listen to her piss and moan, but let 'em have a chance to talk where nobody's gonna overhear…  
"Who the fuck am I kidding?"  
She dug into her pocket and produced the key to Room Three. The one with the floor to ceiling pier glass mirrors, etched and gilded—and viewable from the now-empty linen closet beside it, which also provided storage for an assortment of fine photography equipment and a set of army surplus earphones connected to a microphone hidden in the silk flower arrangement on the table beside the chaise, sensitive enough to pick up the softest of moans and names whispered in the dark that might prove useful to an ex-military informant like Christmas Mustang.  
She handed it across the bar to Edward, then offered a motherly smile to Gracia, gently and understanding. If she had known the Fuhrer's foster mother any better, she would have run like hell, knowing that the cagey old woman did not wish her well. "Would you like me to send in some refreshments?"  
Edward held up a bag of cold, greasy pastries. "Couple of beers."  
Gracia whispered something to Edward and shook her head. "Okay, make that coffee," he corrected.  
"Perhaps a little dash of something…to warm you both up?" The old woman's voice was dangerously sweet.  
"Yeah, whatever. Thanks!" Like a gentleman, Edward held the etched glass door open for his companion and led her down the hall to the third room on the left. "This is pretty private. These rooms are real nice for privacy. Roy and I had dinner here on my birthday."  
The door swung shut behind them and Chris Mustang stepped out behind the bar. "Smoke break," she told the bartender. "Back in about an hour.  
The kitchen led to the laundry—which led right to the old linen closet. She splashed a measure of fine scotch into her glass, adjusted her earphones and popped the lens cover off her camera. "All's fair in love and war, boy," she told the young man on the other side of the pier glass, who was pouring a generous shot of brandy into the sobbing woman's coffee. "Hughes didn't do right by my boy. I love you like my own, Edward, but you break my Roy-Boy's heart and the only thing they'll find left of you when I'm done beating your ass is a bucket o' bolts-and your balls."  
It was dark. The chicken was cold. The wine was warm and the stick of finest creamery butter wasn't firm enough any more for the purpose Roy had intended.  
Ed was easily distracted. Snap open a fascinating book or engage him in a heated scientific discussion and he could lose track of time faster than a soldier on furlough could drop his trousers. The only time he was on time was when he was jumping on the first train out of Resembool after a fight with his ex, or the last train to Dublith to get him to Sig and Izumi's for a weekend with his children.  
Roy was disappointed but hardly surprised. He hadn't told Ed he'd made plans for an intimate sunset picnic, so when he heard Sebastian's soft footsteps passing down the corridor he called for the butler to carry the basket away. "I'm not hungry. Put it in the cooler."  
"Might I bring His Excellency some soup, perhaps?" Sebastian inquired politely. "We have a very savory barley beef with vegetables, a cold potato leek recipe from Aerugo and a clear Xingese broth with pork dumplings on the menu this evening."  
Roy waved him off. "Later, maybe."  
Sebastian's brow puckered slightly in an elegant frown. "His Excellency must keep up his strength. You ate very little of your luncheon. If you are not interested at this time I shall take the liberty to bring up a heated tureen of the barley beef, some cheese and a basket of hot rolls with a warming tile under it so that His Excellency may serve himself later."  
"Whatever."  
Sebastian's dark eyes twinkled with mischief. "And fresh, chilled butter, of course…"  
"Get out!" Roy growled at Sebastian's back as he gracefully retreated. "Damn it…does EVERYBODY in this Palace have to know my personal business?"  
He perched on a gilded chair. She was huddled on a velvet chaise, this one a rich royal purple, a compliment to the décor in the room. The walls were mirror lined, throwing back a dozen Gracias, each one as miserable as the woman sobbing before him. He blushed a little. These rooms weren't meant for eating-well, not for food at any rate. Last time he'd been in a room like this Edward himself had been the dessert, his swollen cock dipped in chocolate mousse. He'd fed it to Roy in a rather unorthodox manner, as the Fuhrer President's head had hung off the couch, his pale throat precisely angled for smooth entry. "Fuck me" he had hissed and fuck him Ed did, and the memory of being swallowed alive made him cross his legs nervously. He didn't want Gracia to get the impression that he was getting a boner over her. That would be…hell, that was just sick, man. Like fucking your own mother. Like the way he felt when Winry suddenly began changing her hair and changing overalls and bandanas to frilly purple dresses with aprons, just like Trisha Elric. 'Uh…Gracia? Ah…you said you wanted to talk to me about Mr. Hughes…and…Roy?"  
He passed her a clean handkerchief—one he had swiped from Al since he never seemed to be able to find one of his own. Nodding her thanks, she wiped her eyes and then gnawed at her lips as if she didn't like the taste of the words she was about to say. "I…I don't believe anything happened between them."  
"Not after you guys got married—Roy swore to me it was over that day. Nothing ever happened again."  
From the way the color drained out of her cheeks,the stricken expression, it was pretty goddamned clear. He'd been had.  
She hadn't known—just guessed—until now.  
"Awwww, fuck!"  
A moment later, Gracia Hughes doubled over and splattered Ed's shoes with coffee, brandy, crullers and the bile that had been churning in her guts ever since she'd planned this morning to catch Ed off guard before he left for Drachma.  
Roy stared at the receiver in his hand. "Ed what?"  
"I said, don't wait up for your boyfriend." It was Ruby, Ed's secretary and bodyguard. She'd been tailing Ed all afternoon for practice. Hawkeye had been training her in stealth techniques that she was to need if she was going behind the lines to Drachma to protect him from any would-be assasin's bullet.  
"He's getting hammered with Gracia Hughes. In a whorehouse."  
…..to be continued….


	5. THE 'OTHER' WIDOW HUGHES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gracia finally learns the truth about Maes and Roy, Izumi and Pinako are scheming to test fatherly dedication---and Dr. Knox fears the cracks he sees In Roy’s cool exterior—and fears for Edward.

The "Other Widow Hughes"

By The Binary Alchemist 2011  
"Maes, I know your daddy would like to bring you a live bear back from Drachma—but it really wouldn't be a good idea."  
"But…I wannit! I really wannnnit! Want a bear like Nana Zumi got!" It took Winry a moment to remember the bear skin rug that Izumi and Sig had on their bedroom floor. Izumi had killed the marauding creature with her belt knife and raw nerve during her month of training exile on Brigg's Mountain. She had shouldered the carcass through the streets of Ft. Briggs, hell bent on proving to Silver Steiner, the legendary alchemist, that she was worthy of being accepted as his disciple. At one point she'd dropped her burden when she collided with a tall, burly mountain of a man named Sig Curtis—and they'd been snuggling under that bear rug and rolling blissfully around on it for over twenty years now.  
Once young Maes Elric had spotted it, he became obsessed with it, patting it's massive head, chattering endlessly to it and occasionally sneaking up on Sig and going "rarrrrrrrrrhhhhhh!" while waving imaginary paws at his foster grandfather. When Ed had asked his son what he'd like Ed to bring him back from Drachma, only one gift would do.  
"Maes, your daddy and Uncle Al can't bring you back a live bear. What if it bit them?"  
On the other end of the phone, Maes Urey Elric puffed out his small chest with pride. "Daddy knock shit out of him!"  
"MAES!" There was a resigned sigh in the background and she could hear Sig call to the little boy to come wash up for supper.  
"Gotta-go-bye-love-you!" her son gushed, tossing the phone to Izumi and dashing after his beloved Poppa Sig.  
"That little devil," Izumi chuckled fondly. "Is there a profanity gene that runs on Ed's side?"  
"It didn't come from Aunt Trisha," Winry laughed.  
Izumi inwardly sighed with relief. Once a month Winry and Edward spoke over the phone about matters involving the children. Over the passing months those brief conversations had become a little less awkward and chilly. Winry was thriving in her new life in Rush Valley and Ed was completely absorbed in the soon to be opened Hohenheim Institute, one of several international centers of science and alchemy opening in Amestris, Xing, the newly reborn Ishballan state and in Drachma, where he would be both teacher and student all this summer at the famed Stoltovgrad University. And while Winry hadn't quite yet adjusted to the idea of Edward sharing his life with another man, Roy had earned her respect because of his dedication to playing an active part in the nurturing of the children—and that he encouraged Edward to spend as much time with the children as he could.  
Maes and his sister Nina had looked forward to coming to Central for the Cherry Blossom festival, but Roy had been dangerously ill after his return from Aerugo. "Don't know what it is or if it's catching," Ed had told Izumi, but we both agree it's not safe for the kids to be around him. Soon as Dr. Knox is sure I'm safe I'll come to Dublith—I wanna see the kids before we take off for Drachma. But…I don't want to be gone long—in case Roy At that point, Ed's voice grew tight and there was a long silence as he mastered himself.  
Roy was back on his feet now, back in the public eye and Ed was now racing madly to get underway. He'd called the kids earlier, giving them his love and telling Izumi not to hesitate to call on Roy for anything they or the kids might need. "We'll be back in August, and we'll all come down for a quick visit—and then when Autumnfest comes Granny's coming down and you and Sig bring the kids up and we'll have a great time, okay?"  
If Ed hadn't been in such a rush he would have missed something suspicious in his teacher's ready agreement. Something that would have clued him in instantly that Something Was Up.  
It was Izumi's nature to keep her students off balance. If he had been thinking straight he would have noticed that too-cheerful tone and known that Teacher was plotting—and he'd have cancelled his plans immediately.  
Only this time—it wasn't Ed she was planning to throw off balance.  
Chuckling into the phone, she confided to Winry what she had planned. "Any objections?"  
There was a long silence. "Izumi….are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I certainly don't have a problem with the kids traveling-but to spring this on him like that—I mean…?"  
Izumi beamed. "I think it's an excellent plan. Let's call it a little test of commitment. Fatherhood is more than buying presents and spoiling them rotten. I'm going to put him to the test and see how well he solos."  
"Are you going to tell Granny?"  
There was a low chuckled on the other end of the phone. "Whose idea do you think this was in the first place?"

###  
Dr Knox adjusted the eyepiece of his microscope and stared suspiciously at Roy Mustang's sputum as if he half expected something malevolent to leap off the glass slide and attack someone.  
"Well, Knox-sama?" Dr. Kanichi Chen, Master of Alkahestric Medicine, Herbalism and Acupuncture calmly sipped his chrysanthemum tea as he waited for the western physician to complete his search for the bacterium that would not be found—and was loathe to admit it. Knox was a sawbones. The idea of using alchemy or Alcahestry to modify herbal or lab-created medications made him uncomfortable and he didn't trust what his own eyes were showing him.  
The flat of his palm finally slapped the top of the lab bench and Knox stalked away in disgust. "Yeah….well…we'll see…"  
Chen beamed. "It is as I told you, my friend. Mustang-sama's immune system responded most vigorously after taking our remedy—"  
"Your remedy," Knox shot back angrily. "And you know I don't hold with that untested—"  
Chen lifted his hand politely. "Our friend is alive. His death would have been not only a great sorrow to those who care for him but would throw this country into chaos. Is there truly anyone capable to guide your country into the bright future of international progress and cooperation? Any one that possesses his visionary gifts or personal charisma—his knack for, shall we say, encouraging the leaders of other nations to lay down their arms and listen—even if only for a moment?" Knox shook his head bitterly. "No? Then it is a good thing that he has been spared. I for one," he added with emphasis, "would deeply mourn the loss of my friend. He is making good progress and with continued holistic treatment, proper diet and a peaceful mind he shall recover completely in short order."  
Knox snorted in derision. "Peaceful mind? This is Roy Mustang we're talkin' about. You're his goddamned doctor too, Kanichi. You hung over him like white on rice since he got sick. You were there that night…"  
"The night before you consented to let me attempt treatment." There was no malice or blame in those words. A simple statement of a terrible fact: if Kenichi Chen had not stepped in, Roy would have died.  
Had been dying, lungs full of fluid, coughing up a bloody, greenish sputum, fever peaking dangerously, half mad and gasping out urgent pleas to his terrified lover and everyone around.  
…and talking to a dead man who seemed to be standing by Roy's bedside, waiting to guide him to the Gateway. A dead man who married someone else but died for Roy's sake.  
Worst of all was the pain on Edward's face, the pain he was manfully trying to conceal. Roy frantically gripped at Edward's hand—but he was calling for Maes Hughes.  
Once the crisis had passed and he had recovered his senses, it was Edward he called for, reached out for and the younger man never left his side. Son of a bitch doesn't remember. Hasn't got a clue how it must have hurt Ed to hear him screaming for Hughes, begging for forgiveness, demanding to know why Maes had left him. And all that time Ed never let go of Roy's hand. He had to listen to that crap and it must have been a knife in the gut.  
Knox lit up a smoke and refilled his coffee mug. "Saw a lot of that shit during the war. Man sees too much of what a man should never see—he hangs on to the one thing that will keep him from losin' it and putting a bullet in his head." He inhaled deeply and spat out a fragment of tobacco that clung to his tongue. "See….some guys think of their wives or girls or mothers. Or they make up their minds they gotta see home and they ain't gonna give in until they do.  
"That Edward—he saw something as bad as war the night Al lost his body, I understand. He went all catatonic until Mustang gave him the dream that he could find a way to get Al back to normal. That's what kept Ed sane. And when Roy Mustang was burning cities and turning babies and women and old men into charcoal, I suspect the only thing that kept him from blowing his brains out was that he had someone to live for. Trouble was, that 'someone' had found someone else, and when the war was over, Hughes figured that what he felt for Roy was just a phase, and that they'd go on as best friends." He shook his head. "Poor bastard. Hughes was a good man and a good friend—but he was so fuckin' obsessed with that dream woman and his kid he just flat out couldn't see that Mustang never fell out of love with him."  
Chen nodded gravely. "And when Hughes-san died, Mustang felt it was his fault-he mourns, yes—but there is anger there that he has buried inside."  
"Nearly turned him into a drunk. Hell, let's not mince words. Mustang was a drunk. Best thing that happened to him was Elric—if he don't fuck that up."  
"In my country," Chen answered thoughtfully, "the physician treats the mind and soul as well as the body. Long ago, after the war, was there no one-?"  
Knox snorted. "Son, this is the army. Officer who shows weakness ends up like Alex Armstrong-branded as weak. Mustang intended to boot Bradley out of the catbird seat. Do that, you can't show weakness. So no—if he'd asked for help—which I don't think he'd have done—it would have destroyed everything he'd worked for. And now…it's so deep he'll just shove it down and shove it down…and sooner or later he'll crack up again the way Ed said he did when he went after that Envy monster." He shrugged. "I don't know what the hell to say to Mustang that won't get me a fist in the chops. You got any ideas, I'm all ears."  
It was not until Dr. Chen's tea time that a solution presented itself. He had been flipping through his original observation notes of Roy's illness when he fingered the scribbled pages thoughtfully—then reached for the phone.  
"Alphonse-sama? May I beg a favor of you?"  
###

In the car back to the palace Denny Brosh glanced in the rear view mirror. Alphonse had a curious expression on his face—wistful, a little sad but hopeful in spite of it. "So, if you don't mind my asking, what was so all fired urgent that you had to rush downtown in the middle of getting the airship ready?"  
Al's long fingers curled around the parcel. "Some…medicine. For the Fuhrer… and my brother, too."  
Brosh looked puzzled. "Ed's not sick, is he? And I thought His Excellency was all better."  
Al thought for a way to put it delicately. "It's….kind of like Major Havoc. Once his spinal cord healed, he needed physical therapy to get him back on his feet."  
"Something like that?"  
"Exactly like that." Al was smiling now.  
"Think it will help?"  
Alphonse closed his eyes and didn't answer. Pray to god it does…for Ed's sake as well as Roy's….  
###  
"Ed's getting hammered with Gracia Hughes. In a whorehouse."  
It was some long minutes before Mustang responded. "Correction." His voice was as calm as if she had just informed him that Sebastian had made cherry torte for tonight's dessert. "If you are referring to my foster mother's establishment, let me clarify this point: there may be assignations in private dining suites—and if cens change hands that would be a private transaction. However my aunt is no longer 'in the trade', as it is called. Is he at my aunt's establishment?"  
Ruby looked a trifle disappointed. "Er…yeah."  
"Then it is very important to make the distinction. Be careful next time, Ruby. Accuracy is essential to your position as Ed's bodyguard. I recommend that Colonel Hawkeye spend more time drilling you in the importance of accuracy in your reports. Is that understood?"  
"Y-yes, Excellency."  
"Good. So…you say that Edward is in my aunt's establishment, eh?"  
"Yessir. In one of those back rooms where people…well…you know." She made a helpless gesture, hoping her boss would mentally fill in the blanks.  
He didn't. "Let us assume that I don't. What is it that people do in those rooms, Ruby?"  
Her cheeks began to burn. "They…ah…they…" She gulped nervously. "They…do…it." Mustang continued to stare at her calmly if waiting for the correct response. "They…they…have sex." Holding his steady gaze was killing her. "On…velvet….beds. Couches…uh…things. Six rooms. They went in room number three."  
"Reallllly." A dark brow lifted a fraction. "Well. That is interesting. Did they have sex?"  
Ruby's eyelids slammed open wide. "Wha-whaaat?"  
His voice was so soothing. "I asked you….did…they…have…sex?"  
She dropped her head. "I don't know, sir."  
"Indeed." He rose and turned his back to her, gazing out the window. "So…how should you have delivered your report to me, Ruby?"  
She though about it for a moment. "Oh. Okay. Hmmm. All right. So…Edward went into Madame Christmas' restaurant. They asked for a key. Mrs. Hughes was crying. Ed asked for two beers but changed his mind and asked for coffee instead. They took a key from Madame Christmas and then went through the double doors in the back and into room number three. I heard swearing—Ed swearing-and then I heard somebody vomit. I think it was Mrs. Hughes. Then I smelled cigarette smoke and thought I heard someone so I took the tunnel route under the restaurant and came straight to you."  
"Thank you."  
"Sir?" she ventured cautiously, "aren't you worried about Edward?"  
There was a long pause. Mustang turned slowly around, a hint of humor playing around his lips. "No."  
"Why?" she demanded.  
"Because Gracia Hughes is like an aunt to him, And believe me," he leaned forward for emphasis, scaring her a little, "Ed has…very little interest in sleeping with a…female relative. Dismissed!".  
###  
Edward hated tears. Winry—well, let's not go there, he told himself firmly. Past was past, done was done, and if they were ever going to keep their promise to not screw up their kids they were going to have to get along—which meant not letting himself get pissed off over the past.  
Genuine tears—if someone was genuinely hurt or scared or in pain—he could make an exception, but the truth was tears made him feel helpless. Like watching the door close behind Hohenheim's back and his mother, sinking slowly to her knees and weeping as she snatched her sons tightly to her and kissed and silent tears were blotted against his hair. He felt helpless then. He felt helpless now.  
Damn it to hell. She didn't know….or maybe the truth had been there and she just never faced up to it until now.  
Roy told me from day one—and I had figured it out long before that. Soon as I saw him go after Envy, I finally understood. This was more than friendship. To Roy, at least, it was a life-long love and Envy had cut out Roy's heart the day he transformed into Gracia and put a bullet through the heart of Maes Hughes—all because Hughes was trying to find a way to help Roy bring Bradley down. Roy lived for Hughes, and Hughes died for Roy.  
He told Hawkeye, "Go ahead and shoot."   
He told me, "hand him over, Fullmetal, or I'll incinerate your arm and Envy with it!"  
And in the end, that monster killed himself, cursing me for pitying it. And Roy…  
…..Roy didn't….finish. Ed felt sick inside. That's why he thought he saw Hughes the night he was so goddamned sick. He promised to avenge the man he loved…and in Roy's eyes, he failed.  
Goddamn it….

"More water?" Gracia looked horrible, her pretty face all blotched and swollen, her lacy blouse wiped clean but stained with her own vomit. She shook her head. "I could get you some ginger ale. That's what Mom always gave us when we had the pukes."  
"N-no…thank you." She looked like a rag doll some careless child had tossed on that velvet sofa, half folded over on herself, slumping to one side. Abandoned.  
"I'm sorry you found out like that. I…shit…I didn't know that you didn't know."  
"It's okay."  
"No, it's not fuckin' okay!" Ed slammed down his coffee cup. "Damn it, this wasn't my place to tell you anything. Roy—"  
Gracia lifted her eyes to his. "No. Maes should have told me." She blew her nose and sipped the ice water Ed had brought her. "Does everybody know?"  
'I….don't know who in the military did or didn't—"  
"A few months ago there was something on Midday Amestris, something Frank Archer said on the radio, about a scandal from Roy's days as a cadet…and that awful afternoon I overheard him refer to Roy Mustang as 'the other Widow Hughes'"  
"That son of a bitch!" Ed growled, fists tightening. He wanted to march down to the Central Penitentiary and beat the snot out of that bastard again, this time for Gracia's sake. "Gracia…no matter what…I…shit…here's what I do know. Roy really, really loved Mr. Hughes. I mean…it wasn't just…y'know, two guys messing around. Not to Roy. When Mr. Hughes was murdered, all Roy could thing about was bringing the killer to justice…and when Envy killed itself, Roy was so…he just…he wanted to avenge him and he couldn't. Maybe," he lifted his finger in caution, "maybe Roy read more into their friendship and Mr. Hughes didn't catch it. Yes, they were…" he forced the words out with a heavy sigh, "lovers. Before you guys got married. Roy swore nothing ever, ever happened again. And nobody doubts that Mr. Hughes-that Maes—loved you and Elycia more than his whole damn life. And he was a good friend to everybody-everybody thought a lot of him."  
"But—"  
"Look….you were really popular when you were a girl, right? All those guys flocking around your dad's flower shop. Right?"  
She sniffed and smiled a little. "Maes…he was always so afraid somebody would win me away from him."  
Edward squeezed her hand gently. "Bet you had a sweetheart or two, huh? Broke some hearts before you found the right man, right?"  
She nodded. She had been very popular and had fallen in love half a dozen times before falling for that tall, green eyed officer fresh from the front who came in to order flowers for his mother. I loved a few…or thought I did."  
"Well…maybe you can think of it this way, Gracia. You had your sweethearts. And so did Maes…only one of them was a guy…and that guy didn't quit loving him until he died but he respected your marriage. Roy didn't push it."  
She bowed her head. "And he never said one word to me or my child after Maes died. Never set foot in our house. I heard he was crying at the grave and Hawkeye had to practically drag him away…"  
Ed sighed heavily. There was nothing he could say to that. "Can you forgive Mr. Hughes for being with…for loving…another man before you met? It really is that simple, Gracia. Can you?"  
"I'll….try…but I don't understand…"  
"Winry didn't understand either…but she's trying, I'll give her that. "  
Gracia looked suddenly angry. "He seduced you too. Ed, you're still young—you don't know what you want—"  
"Oh yes I do…." His voice was very soft. "And if I can forgive Roy's past, you can forgive Mr Hughes….give it time, okay?"

###  
"Mustang speaking."  
"It's me. I'm at Aunt Chris'. Gracia wanted to talk private. About you."  
"I see." The pause was longer than Edward felt comfortable with. "She okay?"  
"Al's taking her home. Gonna stay with her a bit."  
"Ah." Pause . "What did you tell her?"  
"Nothin' she didn't know or hadn't guessed, thanks to Frank Archer. Told her the truth—that you loved her husband. Once. And that he was always faithful to her. That's…true….right?"  
"Yes."  
Ed's shoulders sagged with exhaustion. "Okay…okay. I'll be home shortly. Soon as I get there, I'm giving you twenty seconds to say hello and then I want some serious fuckin' goin' on. I don't care who fucks who…but I wanna break some bed slats. Okay?"  
"What do I need twenty seconds for?" Roy demanded.  
Ed snorted. "Take your goddamn shoes off. Hate getting bruises on my shoulders."  
…TO BE CONTINUED


	6. "FOXTROT-ECHO-ECHO"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed returns home after blurting out the truth to Gracia about Maes and Roy’s past—but he is leaving for Drachma in 48 hours and Roy is not going to waste a precious minute of their time together…although for the rest of the staff it’s Code Foxtrot Echo Echo, which means Roy’s office furniture is about to be abused again…

FOXTROT ECHO ECHO"  
A Sequel to Half Lives  
By the Binary Alchemist 2011

 

He didn't slam down the receiver. Hawkeye appreciated that, as did Kain who usually got stuck with scrounging up replacement parts on short notice.  
He placed the receiver gently back on the cradle then leaned back in to the softness of his leather chair. It was a new one, one of the few perks he had requested other than secretaries that were as accurate and efficient as they were comely to look at. After all, he had told his staff, if he had to spend the lion's share of his day cooped up inside he might as well have pleasant company. And since he didn't request a bevy of mincing, screeching drag queens or a throne of gold, they complied without a complaint.  
Roy's presidential office was a comfortable den with leather upholstery, smart, pretty women, its own kitchenette with two coffee urns—and doors that locked securely on the inside, should Roy reach the boiling point and need a half hour of solitude to calm down.

"Code, sir?"  
Roy sipped his coffee and considered. He didn't glance up at her. "Beta Oscar, Colonel Hawkeye. See to it."  
'Yes, sir!"  
Code Bravo Oscar meant "bugger off"—Roy needed to be left alone. Immediately. Hawkeye knew the codes by heart. Code Red was a national emergency. Code Alpha—short for Code Armstrong—meant a security breach requiring armed guards. Code Presto meant there was Someone To Be Avoided on the way to Roy's office—and Roy would use the private egress behind the bookcase to vanish by the time the unwanted visitor arrived. The egress led down the steps to the infamous underground tunnel—now cleaned up and a private walk and bike path that allowed the staff to get quickly from one part of the city to the other, including a private access way to the wine cellar of Chris Mustang's restaurant..  
And then there was Code Foxtrot Echo Echo. Only Hawkeye, Havoc, Sebastian, Maria Ross, Denny Brosh and now Ruby understood its significance. "It means the Chief and Ed are…ah…lemme see how to put this…." Havoc scratched his head and grinned sheepishly at Ruby. "They're umm….polishing the leather upholstery-"  
"—with their asses. Kind of figured that out," Ruby grumbled. "Do the taxpayers know the Fuhrer is fucking in the office they pay for?"  
Sebastian, who had been unobtrusively servicing the Fuhrer's coffee urn, smiled faintly. "I would believe that the amount of overtime that His Excellency puts in on a weekly basis more than compensates. Besides," he added over his shoulder, "alchemy cleans the leather most efficiently."  
Ruby wrinkled her nose. "Huh! Next time I get called to his office, I think I'll just stand "  
"Ruby, if you're afraid to touch any surface the Chief and the Boss have fucked on, you'd better pitch a tent on the south lawn—"  
"South lawn's not safe either," Hawkeye corrected.  
"—or the stable-"  
"Doubtful—"  
"—uh….the walk in freezer?" Havoc ventured hopefully? Hawkeye shook her head.  
"The ice cream incident before that luncheon summit with the Youswell Mining Consortium," Sebastian offered helpfully.  
Ruby glared at her superiors, fists jammed on her hips. "Alphonse would never behave like that!" she protested loudly with a stamp of her foot for emphasis.  
Jean Havoc, Riza Hawkeye, and Sebastian exchanged glances. Major Havoc burst out in a loud guffaw of uncontrolled mirth, Colonel Hawkeye's face tightened as if she were taking great pains to restrain an outburst, while the butler politely bit his lower lip and polished the coffee urn with astonishing vigor, dark eyes twinkling.

 

Code Bravo Oscar.  
He had time to collect his thoughts.  
They always find out in the end, Maes. And it's not as if you lied. Like any good intelligence officer, you disclosed only what was needful and no more. Gracia probably asked about old girlfriends. Doubtful it ever crossed her mind to inquire if you'd ever slept with another man-or men. Skilled as you were, I doubt I was your first. I think somebody educated you. Either that or—hell, Maes, you always were a damn good study. Not that I cared. But….now she knows…and it's not Ed's fault.  
"…..I want some serious fuckin' goin' on. I don't care who fucks who…but I wanna break some bed slats. Okay?"  
###  
Those words intruded on Roy's reverie and he smiled into his coffee mug, eyes coming to rest on a framed photo taken at the Grand Promenade of Spring held at Prince Claudio's castle. Maes…it was good with you…so damn good…but every moment was stolen, even before you married. We hid ourselves, kissed in shadows. But with Edward…  
Edward had nothing to hide. Their relationship had been thrust into the public eye thanks to Radio Capital and the smarmy reports from Frank Archer, currently incarcerated with The Lonely Boys, a bunch of hard-timers who had converted to Letoism before Frank was transferred to their cell. Archer had been warned that his cell mates were notorious for buggering newcomers—instead he was being driven crazy by attempts to convert him to the Sun God's flock.  
Frank had Outed Roy and Edward—and they would never be In-ed again after that night they appeared as consorts at the Royal Court of Aerugo…  
###  
It was not exactly fancy dress but per protocol the Amestrians would be presented with finery more suited to the occasions than the formal black evening wear that was customary for men in Amestris. The frock coats seemed rather foppish to Roy, and only with the aid of tactful persuasion from Alphonse would Ed consent to putting it on, and only if the ruffled shirtfront was transmuted into something pleated, high collared and conservative, his automail prosthesis thankfully ruled out court knee breeches and dancing pumps. Instead the Amestrians sported dark long trousers, simple cravats and waistcoats and their frock coats may have been soberly cut but of the very richest fabrics.  
Roy had admired his reflection in every mirror he passed, as the midnight blue suited him excellently. Alphonse looked elegant in a dark emerald and aeronaut's silk scarf, but when Ed came down the steps in dark crimson velvet Roy's mouth fell open, his trousers became dangerously tight and if Dr. Knox had been measuring his heart rate he would have become quite alarmed indeed.  
And from the way his lover had frozen half-way down the stairs, amber eyes wide with surprise, it seemed as if the reaction was mutual.  
To the general surprise and tacit approval of the assembled, Edward and Roy entered the Contrapasso Processional Pavanne, the ancient formal dance of Aerugo courts that the Amestrians had agonized over for weeks. It threw the balance off, as some of the passes required women to move and clasp hands of other partners, but Claudio had thoughtfully paired Edward and Roy in quartet with Alphonse and Claudio's young sister Elena, who was so delighted to be partnered by the handsome younger Elric that she took no notice of the way Edward and Roy were staring at one another and the heat that was passing between their glances.  
For someone who openly swore he detested dancing, Edward's usual self consciousness and social awkwardness had vanished. He moved with surprising grace, pacing through the figures, his gloved hand resting under Roy's since custom dictated that when partners of the same gender danced together the partner of higher status always led. "That's okay," Ed had whispered as he tugged on his dancing gloves. "Long as I'm on top later."  
Halfway through the evening Ed had called Roy out for a private word on the balcony. Before the Fuhrer could ask what was wrong he was shoved roughly through the hedge, against the castle wall and pounced upon by a wild eyed golden lover who bit him sharply on the neck and hissed, "goddamn…you're not supposed to look this good." Before Roy could splutter out a retort, Ed had wrapped himself around his lover, straddling Roy's right thigh. "I had to go jerk off in the men's room thanks to you, asshole!"  
"Wha—what?"  
"Got me so hot, just looking at you…not being able to touch you…"  
Roy's hands slid under the crimson coat, digging into the taut, muscled back, feeling that he couldn't pull his mate close enough. He planted the sole of his fine dancing slipper against the mossy stone wall, raising his thigh. Edward mounted it and began to rock his hips, rubbing himself against hard muscle, growling softly and panting into Roy's ear. "Want you…aww FUCK…right now…so good…"  
"….tell me what you want…"  
'….mmm….want your tongue…right now…"  
Edward shivered and Roy would have been on his knees in seconds if Alphonse and Elena hadn't come looking for them…

"Hey."  
Roy glanced up and smiled. "Hey yourself. Had dinner?"  
Ed shrugged. "Not hungry."  
"That's a first."  
Ed scrubbed the back of his neck vigorously, yanked out his hair tie and shook his mane free. "It's…been kinda stressful, past few hours."  
"I can imagine."  
"Nope." Ed sighed heavily. "Not sure you can, Roy."  
"I see." He put down his coffee and leaned forward, hands laced together. "You…blame me for this situation? Should I have told Gracia after her husband's death that I had loved him—loved him still—and that I regretted that walking into her house and seeing his pictures—his child—only made the pain worse for me and harder to hide?"  
Edward walked slowly around to Roy's side of the desk, shoved a stack of unread papers out of the way and sat down wearily. "Nobody's to blame, Roy. Be easier if there was." He reached over, unclenched the Fuhrer's hands and massaged them, an unconscious gesture of affection. "Can't blame him for not telling. Everybody's trying hard not to hurt everybody. Everything ends up fucked up anyway. Think she understands why you don't come around now."  
"And hates me."  
'Could be." Ed stole a sip of Roy's coffee, making a face at the amount of sugar the man ruined his coffee and tea with. "Hope not."  
"Me too. I have enemies enough to go around."  
"She's not your enemy. Never was. Just," Ed shook his head, "your rival" He gave Roy a playful swat on the top of his head. "In your mind, anyway. And Hughes is gone, so there's nothing left to fight over, is there?"  
Roy rolled his chair over and wrapped his arms around Ed's hips. "I can't force myself to…I don't—"  
"—you don't like her. And that's okay. Just…don't hold it against her, okay?"  
"I'll try."  
"Can't ask more than that." The hand that had swatted him now caressed the dark head that rested on his thigh. 'Twenty seconds is up and you still have your shoes on."  
To Ed's surprise, Roy slid back, captured Ed's left leg and unlaced his shoe, tossing it aside. He tugged the sock off the metal prosthetic and kissed the steel toes as affectionately as he would have kissed flesh. The fact that Roy didn't flinch from the scars and the metal and wires and the odors of steel and machine oil always got to Ed. Winry—well, she's a gear head. That kind of shit always turned her on. Roy's never had a maimed lover before, Ed reasoned. Roy never balked at Ed's automail and caressed it just as lovingly as the leg that could feel his touch. "You're gonna fuck me on the desk?"  
Roy leaned in close and nipped an earlobe. "Remember the night in Aerugo when you were humping my leg in the bushes and I asked you what you wanted?"  
The memory made Ed flush from head to toe and all points in between." Yeah…."  
Warm breath in his ear made goose bumps spring out on Ed's neck. "What did you tell me you wanted?" A gloved hand slid down his chest and came to rest over something growing hot and heavy, something that was demanding some attention.  
Ed swallowed hard."…ngggh!…tongue…..uhhhshiiit…"  
A low, wicked chuckle in his ear made him squirm. "Don't believe I heard you, Edward."  
'I said….aahhaahhhh!….I…want…your…goddamn…TONGUE!"  
###  
The phone rang at Hawkeye's desk. "Sir?"  
The voice on the other end of the horn was rather breathless. "Code Foxtrot Echo Echo. Roger that?"  
Foxtrot Echo Echo. Short for Fucking Edward Elric. "Yes, Sir."  
Her perfectly composed face began to pinken and sweat began to bead up between her breasts. Havoc glanced at the lovely flush creeping across her cheeks. "Lemme guess."  
"Mmmn.'  
"When do you get off duty for the night?"  
"Midnight." She opened a rifle assembly manual and gave it her full attention.  
It was upside down. Havoc grinned. "Good. After your watch I'll…relieve you, Colonel. Code Foxtrot Romeo Hotel?"  
"Roger that, Major. Carry on."  
"See you at the rendezvous point. I'll provide a few liters of grain based hydration and some Class-A carbohydrate and protein replacement rations—hold the mayo. And the onions."  
"Very good, Major. Dismissed!"

###  
One of the best things about loving someone in the open is knowing I can leave marks on what's mine. The sensitive spot where the thigh meets the hip—that was a favorite and broad strokes of the tongue tended to produce the most delicious groans, especially if every few strokes strayed to the side to where his sac joined his body. Oh, and that smooth cusp of flesh right under the hairless scrotum…perfect to suck on, and it always provoked Ed to hook his hands under his knees and offer more and more enticing flesh for Roy to feast on. 'Hold that pose," Roy told him with a smug little smirk. The alchemist clapped his hands and suddenly a leather throw pillow became a pair of butter-soft leather restraints. Another clap and support hooks sprouted from the top of His Excellency's desk.

Ed looked genuinely shocked. 'Have you been trading notes with my brother again?"  
Roy laughed and kissed Ed's belly as he adjusted the ties. "Less strain on you if you don't have to hold your legs yourself. All you have to do is…mmmm…enjoy…."

And he did. 'Ohhh….ffffuckggggGAWDyeah…suck 'em…suck on 'em….leave the gloves on, goddamn it…oh yeaaaahhhhhh…."

It was hard when he was squirming all over the desk like that but Roy managed to get both of the oh so sensitive balls inside his mouth at the same time, sucking gently while a rough, gloved finger delicately teased the inviting opening that made Ed slam his head back on the desk and curse. The flushed, swollen length above him quivered and pulsed with Ed's accelerating heartbeat.  
And with Edward tied up and raving, Roy had him right where he wanted him…

"Don't move."  
'Huh? OH MY FUCKIN' GOD…shiiiiiit!"  
Ed would be gone in less than 48 hours and every moment Roy could hold his man had to count. Normally he'd have swallowed down every thick, salty drop but Roy didn't want to waste it.  
Thighs strapped wide, wrists now bound to the desktop, Ed struggled and panted with frustration to get at his lover, who was slowly stripping off his uniform and tossing it aside. "You got what you wanted," he purred, leaning in for a kiss. "Now it's my turn. Equivalent exchange, you know?"  
"Equivalent echange my ass!"  
"I'll 'equvalent exchange' your ass tomorrow night—but right now…as I said…it's my turn."

Roy climbed up onto the desk, straddling Edward's hips. He held out a small dish of unwrapped butter pats from the kitchenette. "Would you do the honors—oh…but I see you're all tied up, aren't you?"  
"Bastard! Quit teasing me!"  
"Well then…I guess you'll just have to watch, won't you?" Butter slicked fingers disappeared and Roy shuddered and hissed and whimpered, rocking back against his own hand, forcing Edward to watch. "Feels sooooo good…ohhh….right there….god, yes…."  
Edward would have gnawed through the restraints if he could have reached them with his teeth. "Fuckin' tease!"

Roy positioned himself right over the dripping, neglected manhood. "You wanted my tongue? Well…I wanted this!" He sank down to the hilt and squeezed.  
Edward shrieked. Outside in the hall, Riza Hawkeye reached for the ear safety plugs she used on the rifle range. They wouldn't block out the full range of decibles—Ed's, at least—but it would help.

The slow, deliberate rotation of Roy's lean hips had Ed babbling nonsensical words he generally kept to himself—words about loving, wanting…needing…the man who was driving himself downdowndown…impaling himself, sweat dripping down his chest, gasping hard and fisting his own hot flesh. "Please….hurry…"  
A handclap and the bond fell loose and Ed yanked Roy down hard, chest to chest, wrapping his legs around the man who rode him mercilessly.

Love you. Need you…take me…harder…oh god…please…  
"Edward…"  
"!"  
He lay on his lover's supine body, drenched inside and out, head cradled on a sweaty chest. He was sore and sticky and felt better than he had since he'd returned from Aerugo.  
Better than he had since Maes died.

 

A hand gently stroked his back. "Hey."  
"What?"  
"Do me a favor while I'm gone, will you?"  
"Anything."  
"Tell me a story."  
Roy lifted his head. "Huh?"  
Ed was flushed and smiling up at him. "I want you to write to me and tell me a story. Tell me," his hand traced the curve of Roy's cheek, "about Maes."  
Roy was incredulous. Speechless. His mouth moved but he couldn't manage to force a sound out.  
Ed nodded and continued. "Tell me everything you've never told a soul before. Write to me and then I'll read it…and then if you want I'll burn the letters and throw the ashes in the river…and you'll have it out of your system and you can let it go. Because," he lowered his voice to an intense whisper, "it's time for us now. Okay?"  
"Okay."  
…TO BE CONTINUED…..


	7. "SPEAK SOFTLY AND CARRY A BIG PAIR OF COGLIONI"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Political suspicions and the Machiavellian mindset of the Aerugoans threatens to be a real problem for Roy's dreams of peace and mutual cooperations...but it isn't as of Amestris hasn't given them good reasons. Meanwhile, Roy and Ed work out an ingenious plan for sharing "private diaries" and when Roy invites Ed for a moonlight ride, Ed suspects some major 'horsing around' is what his lover really has in mind...

"SPEAK SOFTLY AND CARRY A BIG PAIR OF COGLIONI"  
BY The Binary Alchemist, 2011

"Oh, look, Elycia! There's a special delivery for you!" Gracia was all smiles as she closed the front door behind her, holding out a pretty box wrapped in gold foil with deep blue spangles, topped with a huge bow. They hadn't even opened the box yet the delicious fragrance of butter cream frosting made the child whoop with delight. "Kookie Kats!"  
"Yes, sweetie—and I think the delivery man deserves a hug, don't you""  
"Allllphonse!" Elycia launched herself at her idol and hugged him fiercely.  
"Hey! It's not like I could leave for Drachma without giving my best girl a present, right?" He pulled a small parcel out of his pocket. "And this is from Edward-he had tea with your mommy this afternoon and wanted to make sure you got this."  
It was a tiny locket of Xingese silver, enameled with a delicate pink cherry blossom and a matching silk ribbon to tie it around the little girl's neck. "Oooooohhhh! Pretty! Can I wear it, Mommy?"  
Gracia nodded. "Yes, honey—and look inside, see? Ed's put a picture of me and a picture of Daddy. That way we'll always be close to your heart. Isn't that sweet?"  
"Yeah!"  
"So you'd better save one of your very best hugs for him and say thank you when he comes home this fall. Or you could make a nice card and draw pictures on it. I bet he'd like that and he'd have it to keep while he's up north."  
Al knelt down on the carpet beside the coffee table. "C'mon, go get your crayons and I'll help. We'll play here and Mommy can…have a little quiet time." He glanced up at the widow of Maes Hughes and saw the gratitude in her eyes.  
"T-thank you, Alphonse. It would help."  
###

"Any better, Highness?"

Prince Claudio or Aerugo, Prince of the Dawn, glared up at his retainers over his miserly breakfast of warm broth and dry toast. "My mouth tastes like the bottom of a bird cage and my lungs are on fire. And," he gestured to his plate, "serve me another breakfast like this and I'm going to forget that my great grandfather outlawed putting people's heads and coglioni on pikes outside the castle gate. I want a proper cappuccino e cornetti—or even a crust of bread and some good red wine to dunk it in. How the inferni do you expect me to recover if you won't feed me-AAAAKKHHKOFFF-Koffffffarrgguuuugglllllll!"  
"Baldric? The basin, if you would be so kind."

Castellan Bacalla averted his eyes as the ever-so-elegant Claudio hawked up another distasteful specimen of goo from his lungs. "Thank you, Sire. Baldric, take this down to Dottore Taranto. Do you have His Highness' tisane ready?"  
Baldric accepted the spit basin and jerked his head towards the tea tray bearing a steaming silver pot that smelled strongly like eucalyptus and pleurisy root. "Excellent. Once you've done with…er…your…first course, Sire, and take your tisane and medications, I'll bring you up a proper breakfast and after your morning examination we'll assist you to wash up and bring you fresh sheets and clothing."  
"Is the post here?"  
"Indeed, as well as the morning edition of La Gazetta and the Central Times."  
Irritably, Claudio flapped the Amestrian daily open—then paused. "Well…it seems His Excellency has returned to the public eye," he observed. "Mustang has been uncharacteristically quiet since his return home."  
Baldric and Bacalla exchanged glances. "He has said only the most general things about his state visit here. Does that not seem a bit…suspicious, Sire?"  
Claudio smiled knowingly. "It is because he did not get the precise answer or enthusiastic response he had been counting on. We do not embrace the same vision, and until we can find a common ground we shall have an uncomfortable stalemate between us."

The bone of contention between Amestris and Aerugo, at least in the present moment—was over the proposed Aerugoan branch of the Collegium of Alexandria. After a generation of hostility and both covert and open warfare since the Bradley Era, the citizens of Aerugo felt they had every reason to be cautious when Fuhrer Mustang turned up on their soil with an airship, Xingese and Drachman scientists and the unique proposal of inviting Aerugo to establish an international academy for the exchange of scientific and alchemic knowledge. "How do we know they aren't simply coming to steal technology or for the sake of espionage?" The Sun King had argued.  
"Because that's what our ancestors would have done?" Claudio shot back, shaking his head.  
"Precisely. Which is why we must not be seen to be acquiescing to his suggestions, my son. This youngster may be the future of Amestris. He's got a cool head and a big pair of coglioni—but the history of betrayal and mistrust between our nations is bloody and deep."  
Claudio had thrown his hands up in frustration. He'd been the advocate of the peace treaty, and thought the idea of the Collegium to be a sound one…if he could trust Mustang.  
And if Mustang was willing to give in order to get—equivalent exchange, no?

After conferring with his royal father, now retired from public service and preparing the nation for his abdication in favor of Claudio, a counter offer had been made. The Collegium would be allowed—but for a period of three years Aerugo would not allow any of its scientists to travel abroad to the other schools. Instead, Aerugo would send artisans.  
Mustang had been dumbstruck. "I'm not sure I follow you, Highness," he answered hesitantly. "Ballerinas?"  
Claudio nodded, folding his long fingers around the stem of his crystal goblet. "Indeed. You see, to the people of my country, we were once a collection of nation-states with our own private family squabbles, as it were. Then suddenly our neighbor to the north offers to help us learn to get along. A man name Bradley visits our shore—a young military genius—a rising star on the political horizon, much as you have been. This…King…attempts a political coup and tries to annex our nation into Amestris. Now," he made a gesture to silence any protest, "since the fall of the Bradley regime—and there is no need for you to make pious faces, my friend. It has always been obvious that the rot was at the root of the government…and the root was the King you helped topple from his throne, no? Grumman takes command for just long enough for things to calm down. He then steps aside and you take the helm—oh, I don't dispute that you've done well. Very well indeed. You've fought for Ishballan nationhood, made a firm ally with Emperor Ling and Tsar Dimitri of Drachma. That is no small accomplishment. However," his calm blue eyes became implacable, in light of the actions of your predecessors you cannot blame us for being cautious.  
"So—we counter-propose as follows. We agree to join the Collegium of Alexandria. We permit a university to be established. In return," he leaned in closer for emphasis, "we want to see Amestris show the world that the arts of peace are as important as the arts of science—which can still be a tool of war. Open your doors—make room for the writers and musicians and craftsmen and the dancers. Your culture is barren and warlike, while the Xingese culture thrives alongside alkahestry. Prove to the world, Signor Mustang, that Amestris possesses a heart as well as a brain—a soul as well as an intellect. As our poets have said for centuries, 'man needs both bread and roses to survive.'"  
The look on Mustang's face had been priceless—but Claudio had been deadly serious. "Amestris is a child-nation yet. Let us see how far you are willing to go to grow up."

Drachma and Xing and Ishbal supported him-to no great surprise. Drachma, in fact, had been considering an emphasis on athletics to be encouraged so that the men and women 'did not wilt like cabbages from too much study and too little exertion.'. The Xingese delegate, Dr. Chen, had agreed as well, and to Claudio's surprise, the Elrics offered support to the Drachman athletics. "Teacher told us we had to train the body as well as the mind," Edward had pointed out, but this whole arts thing…I don't know…I never had to draw anything other than an array—"  
"—which is probably why your sense of design and art is abysmal," his lover had shot back.

The discussion had been tabled until the autumn when Chen and the Elrics returned from the summer in Drachma. In his most recent missive, Mustang had invited Claudio to choose a delegate to join the group going to Stoltovgrad. His recent lingering illness so close on the heels of the departure of the Amestrians had made him cautious. His father had warned him of foul play. "You could have died, my son, and are not yet recovered. There is nothing to disprove that someone was not trying to harm you under your own roof-"  
"—Mustang, too, has been rumored to be ill-"  
"—to allay suspicion-"  
And now, as if reading his mind, Bacalla was looking down that long nose of his and muttering some conjectures that 'as assassination attempts go, it was rather amateurish. I suppose after arranging the death of Bradley Mustang has gotten out of practice—"  
A sharp look from Claudio shut him up. "You forget yourself in the royal presence. If you don't hold your tongue, I'll---"  
Just who does this little figlio de putana think he is? Black eyes snapped in rebellion. "You'll what, Sire?" Send me to Amestris to—to teach…flower arranging? With those provincial, mindless, boring and badly dressed little tin warlords? I'd rather be mucking out the privies."  
A slow, not altogether pleasant smile crept across the Prince's handsome face. It was known that his father, the Sun King, was descended from a great house, noted for the intricacies of their assassination plots as well as the efficacy of their poisons. Claudio was very much a man of the 20th century—but King Cesare, who had schooled the Prince in the royal court, was not.  
"I'm gratified that you are open to all future employment options ….Castellan. Now fetch me my breakfast."  
Castellan Bacalla bowed, retreated, closed the door behind him, leaning back against it with one hand over his now wildly pounding heart. "Oh…merda…"

On the other side of the door he couldn't hear Prince Claudio chuckling softly as he pulled out his bedside lap desk and composed a letter to Roy Mustang.

Your Excellency—  
After much consideration I have decided to include an envoy to come and study with the Elric brothers and Dr. Chen at Stoltovgrad. While we have our differences in opinion, I believe that your vision of the future has merit. Therefore, I will arrange for my envoys to travel by rail to Briggs Mountain within the fortnight in hopes that Major General Armstrong will be willing to provide safe escort to the university in Drachma….."  
###  
"Hey."  
"Yeah?"  
Roy stuck his head around the bathroom door. "Save some time before bed tomorrow. If the weather's fair, I want us to go for a ride before you leave."

Roy hadn't been out to ride his prized desert mustang, Cirrocco, since his return from Aerugo and his illness. He'd spent time in the barn earlier today, brushing her down and talking to her. The mare had been so restless when Roy had been unable to tend her personally that she'd kicked her feedbox to matchsticks and snapped at her grooms. She only calmed down when she was turned out to the pasture with Ed's own mount, Khamsin, a palomino mustang with a pale mane and tail. Khamsin had been smuggled into the country illegally two years ago as a foal and had been badly neglected, little more than a prize of an arms smuggler from the Ishballan war days. Marco had learned about the filly and asked if Roy would be interested in giving her a home. "They say she's skittish and doesn't like the bit and bridle, and she's got some scarring from where it looks like she was whipped. The regional brass seized her in a raid on the compound and were talking about putting a bullet in her head."  
"The hell they will," Roy snapped. "I'll wire you the cash from my own accounts. I want her. She deserves a chance." Marco had laughed as he hung up the phone. This wasn't the first time a scarred youngster had been rescued by Roy Mustang. 

Edward befriended Khamsin, whose name meant 'sandstorm' in honor of her coloring. Not used to horses, he treated her like an oversized dog of sorts, even whistling to her like he would Black Hayate. They would chase each other around the pasture and one morning Roy had looked out the window in horror to see Ed sprawled across Khamsin's back, wearing only a pair of jeans, not even a pair of boots to protect his foot. He had bawled Edward out, furious that his lover had placed himself at such risk with powerful, potentially untrustworthy creature who could throw him, kick him—kill him with very little effort.  
"Oh, balls," Ed snorted. "I just talk to her like I do to Al. She's been fucked up. I've been fucked up. Fucked up people understand each other. You should know that by now, asshole. And being around her keeps your nag happy. What's the fuckin' problem with that?"  
And Roy had to admit the wisdom of that, much as it made him grit his teeth. 

"You mind riding with me? I just want to take Cirrocco. I've got a double saddle. We can ride…close."  
Ed glanced up over the rims of his reading glasses. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, salacious in the Fuhrer's tone. Nothing hinted. Nothing to suggest that there was any ulterior motive than a pleasant trot under the full moon…  
Waitaminute…this is Roy Mustang we're dealing with here. The man who just tied me to a desk and rode me like a-  
His tanned cheeks grew hot and there was a answering twitch between his legs. He gulped nervously. "Ah…yeah…okay. When you want to-?"  
"—after moonrise. And since we're going off trail, I'll have Sebastian lay out your gear for you. All right?"  
The twitch became a throb. Damn. He nearly fucked that desk to splinters and nearly fucked me to death. What has he got in mind? And, he noted the way the slanting light from the bathroom door played over Roy's bare shoulders, why the hell does he look so good tonight?  
Ed was sore, tired and all he really wanted to do was finish his chapter, kiss Roy goodnight and snuggle up to sleep.

Or so he thought. But once that warm body slid under the cool sheets it hit Edward hard that in less than 48 hours he'd kiss Roy goodbye until the end of summer. Never seemed so long before…  
Roy reached for the pull-chain on the bedside light. Ed stopped him. He tugged off his glasses, folded them to one side and then pushed Roy slowly onto his back.  
"Hmmmmm?"  
"I want to see you."  
"Nothing you haven't seen before," Roy chuckled, but one look at Ed's thoughtful expression and the smirk evaporated. His fingers slid up to capture the heavy strands of gold that fell into those remarkable eyes. "They aren't yellow."  
"What?"  
"Your eyes. You once told me you hated how you and Al had—what did you call them?"  
Ed glanced away awkwardly. "Piss yellow eyes. Used to hear that on the playground. Had to start beating people up 'cause it made Al cry when he was little. We looked like freaks. Me and Al and Dad-and Father. Only ones left with eyes like these. And now I've passed 'em on and Maes is gonna hear the same damn thing, poor little guy."  
Roy shook his head. "Topaz…topaz and amber…a little hint of copper, maybe."  
"Whatever."  
"I would have remembered the color even if I never got to see them again…if I hadn't used the Stone to restore my sight."  
Long, blunt fingers lightly stroked his eyelids. "Glad you did. You needed your eyes to set things right around here. To undo all the shit Father did. And you did all that stuff for the Ishballans. At least that stone was used to balance the debt. Good came out of it."  
"And I'm selfish enough to appreciate the other things that I can see that are important." Roy's fingers lightly brushed against the tender flesh at the nape of his lover's neck. "I want to keep looking into your eyes for a very, very long time."  
If there had been any hint of sarcasm or irony in that statement Edward would have simply punched him in the shoulder, grumbled a few obscenities and then settled down to sleep.  
Instead his hand inched under the covers and Roy's breath drew in sharply as Ed captured him, crawling up, crawling closer, belly to belly, mouth to mouth, stroking slow and strong and kissing with his eyes wide open. "That's the sappiest shit I've ever heard come out of your mouth." Ed teased gently, the hand that held Roy now holding them both together. "Bad thing," he shivered and tightened his grip, "is…I…liked it. Getting' soft around you, jerk!"  
"Keep…jerking us like th…like that…mmmmmnnn…and you won't be soft for long." There was that damned smug grin Ed was waiting for. "Still mean it," Roy added, hands sliding around to knead the mismatched shoulders, now slick with sweat again.  
"Aarrggggg…shiiiiit! M..me…too…." Panting furiously, Ed leaned in close, sucked hard on the base of Roy's throat, marking the pale flesh deliberately above the collar line. Roy was too far gone to do more than buck up into that relentless stroking that brought him dangerously near the edge. "But….if…I…ever…hear…any..mother…fuckin'…baby talk…" Ed grunted in rhythm with his fist and hips,"so….so…help…me….I…willl….fuckin'…..kill…you…AAAHH—hnnnngggg!"  
Roy would have sworn that it was physically impossible to burst out laughing at the same time as something else was bursting out of ones' body. He was wrong, and above him Ed was howling with pleasure and over the absolute absurdity of loving this obnoxious, snide, sarcastic, vain, and altogether irresistible son of a bitch. The wrestled and rolled and bit and roared with laughter until they collapsed together in a sticky tangle, bonelessly relaxed and grinning in the lamplight.  
"Those letters—that story-I'll have to encrypt it."  
"Well, duhhhhh!" Ed squirmed until he found the perfect fit against Roy's side, wedging his cheekbone into the right curve on the inside of Roy's shoulder.  
"Any preferences?"  
""Trithemius Polygraphia?"  
"Easy enough to translate. Is yours legible? Sorry—even your standard penmanship resembles pigeon scratches."  
"Bite me."  
"At least you won't need a codex to decipher it. And if need be Al can help you. Because," Roy yawned contentedly, "there's nothing that I'm afraid of him seeing, either. Hell, your brother does things in bed that scare me, Ed. And always walks away from it with everybody smiling."  
"And no lawsuits."  
"He doesn't hurt anybody. He's good at making people happy. Not a skill I was born with, alas."  
"You hear me complaining?"  
"Ed, if you ever stopped complaining I'd have Knox check you for brain injury. Know how the Aerugoans have personal mottos? Yours would have to be 'protesti, quindi sono'—  
'I bitch, fherefore I am'—OWWW! Quit that!"  
Ed offered an apologetic lick to the nipple he'd just bitten. "Fair enough. That means you're motto would be…ummmm…"se il mio pene fosse grande come il mio ego che avrei scattato e che caduto'. G'night."  
"Mrmmpphhhphhh…."

Roy switched off the light. Presently the soft cadence of Ed's breathing deepened into the buzz saw range that had become oddly comforting in the dark. He would miss that sound. He'd miss the warm weight on his chest and shoulder. He'd miss the smell of clean hair and fresh sweat and steel and machine oil—a bitter tang that clung to his lover as if the metal had gotten into his blood and changed its chemistry, but unmistakably Ed. He'd miss the playful squabbling and teasing and the easy way he never had to tiptoe around the eggshells of Maes' other life—guarding his words so as to not provoke the merry chorus of "of course I'm going to get married someday, Roy—c'mon, every man wants a family and kids, right?", always delivered unselfconsciously and with absolutely no clue whatsoever of how it cut Roy to the heart. No….no…loving Ed openly was a gift and Roy was a wise man to recognize that.  
And Ed's knack for languages was also a gift. Roy was not so quick to translate Ed's motto but as sleep crept up on him the words worked into his mind…

Se il mio pene fosse grande come il mio ego che avrei scattato e che caduto  
"If my dick was as big as my ego I'd trip over it"

His eyes snapped open. "Remind me," he informed the sleeper who was drooling on his chest, 'to remind you to be thankful I don't sleep with my gloves on."  
…TO BE CONTINUED…


	8. CALLING DOWN THE MOON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al's favorite breakfast: a tall stack of...blondes,brunettes and redheads..makes for a memorable morning before departing for Drachma.   
> Ed's best friend from boyhood arrives--a promising young doctor who seems unusually interested in word of Ed's divorce. Meanwhile, Roy remembers a forbidden book of love poetry he found in Ishbal , and it inspires one of the most memorable nights of Ed's life...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruby and Pitt Renback are characters from the FMA Light Novels "Valley of White Petals" and "Under the Faraway Sky" , both by M. Inoue, published by Viz Media and illustrated by Arakawa  
> Sufi Love Poetry adapted from the works of Rumi
> 
> "When the strong glance of my Beloved caught my eyes  
> Like alchemy it transformed the base metal of my soul  
> It is said that Love is the window from one heart to another  
> Since we embraced, friend of my heart  
> How can there be any windows, for all the walls have come crashing down?"

"Calling Down The Moon"  
By the Binary Alchemist, 2011

Alphonse couldn't get up with the alarm went off. There was a thigh wrapped around his neck.  
Exactly whose he wasn't sure. It was firm and smooth and when he licked it in inquiry it tasted of pastry cream and the savory uniqueness that marks one woman from another. "Lottie?"  
"Down here." Something wet and silky pulled him in with a slurp that might have been construed as sloppy table manners elsewhere. Something else slim and firm strummed lightly against his prostate, coaxing him back to full salute.  
"Kate?"  
The questing finger crooked in greeting. So, by process of elimination the soft tickle of auburn curls that were now brushing urgently across his lips could have only belonged to….but no. Didn't taste like Sophie, whipped cream notwithstanding. Alphonse had an excellent memory where women were concerned. Like the finest of wines and cheeses, Al had observed since regaining his body, every blossom had its own unique bouquet and nectar and like a true scientist he delighted in recording his discoveries, fascinated by the subtle beauty and sweetness of each flower.  
"Sophie's gone to set out the sweet rolls and get the doors open. Soon as the counter staff comes in she'll bring us some breakfast. Ahhhh! Yess!"  
Al wasn't sure whose charms were presenting themselves to his tongue at this hour, but it scarcely mattered. All women were beautiful. All women deserved this kind of loving, playful accolade. His tongue fluttered up until it located what the Xingese referred to as the Pearl Beyond Price and he sucked gently on it in The Manner Of The Hummingbird That Greets The Dew, setting off a chain reaction of squeals.  
There was a long, long list of Things That Wanted Doing this morning. Final safety checks of the Xerxes. Letters to write. Family to call. Maps. Suitcases and telescopes and he was pretty sure he'd have to jump on Ed again about not packing so many books. It wasn't as if Ed hadn't made great progress learning to read Drachman Cyrillic. Oh, and paperwork for crossing over Briggs airspace and…ohhhh…  
But life has its priorities. There were three—no, four now—women climbing on his body. There was a zzzzzzztttt! of a cream nozzle somewhere and the lovely moist sound of someone having cream licked out of somewhere or off of something and his nipples stung pleasantly from the bites of a very pretty bakery girl. There was a lively tongue and a finger that was playfully rude and…  
…and there were enough hours in the morning to get things done without leaping out of bed. Ed didn't need him quite yet. Brother was probably enjoying a playfully rude finger of his own or perhaps something a good bit larger and more headstrong. And while Al's interest was targeted on the fairer sex, he'd experimented enough with his playmates to acknowledge that whatever the Fuhrer was currently doing to Ed undoubtedly felt wonderful…to Ed, at any rate.  
Besides, cinnamon rolls weren't out of the oven yet. Il Gattina's cinnamon rolls were the best anywhere, perfect with tall glass of creamy milk fresh from the dairy. And four beaming faces, four lovely butterflies to share the sweetness with him, to laugh with him and enchant him and send him off to work with a cheerful heart Might as well have a good breakfast to start out the day. Oh, and it might be a good idea to wash up a bit before heading out and saying goodbye to the four—no-five—girls squirming sweetly under the frosting stained sheets. Food coloring, blue in particular, had a tendency to stain both his boxers and his pubic hair.  
There was a pause as a rubbery sheath was positioned and rolled down Al's shaft by a pair of very skillful lips. A thrust…a treble moan and a tantalizing squeeze…and paradise.  
Life was good indeed….

###  
"Life SUCKS!"  
"Stop being a pussy and hold out your arm, Edward." Knox was fed up. In view of Ed's exposure to the bacteria that had laid the Fuhrer low it was only prudent to make sure the high altitudes and travel stress didn't catch up with the young scientist and knock him out of commission. "Shit! Not the new shoulder! I told you not to do that, asshole! The scars make it sensitive!"  
"Coming from a man who probably spent the night with a part of the Fuhrer shoved into a body part where biology and nature never intended it to be I can't believe you're such a whiner. Now get the hell out of my sight."  
Edward stalked down the hall, rubbing his bicep and muttering under his breath. Colonel Hawkeye stared at him unsympathetically. Havoc dug into his pocket and offered Ed a lollipop. Ed snatched it out of the Major's hand, jammed the sucker into his mouth and took off without them towards his office. Havoc grinned. "I am so going to hold this over his head in front of his kids."  
###

"They're coming."  
"Huh?"  
The Colonel nodded. "I heard from Izumi last night. Seems she wants a demonstration of how well the Fuhrer can handle being a single parent while Ed's away."  
Havoc whistled. "Cripes almighty…and I'm guessing that Mustang won't know what hit him until the little buggers show up, right?"  
"Precisely."  
Havoc examined her expression carefully. "You find this amusing."  
"I find this necessary." Her expression was sober. "Edward would expect the same from a life partner of Winry's. "  
"Spent her whole life hung up on Ed.' Havoc shook his head. "Think she really will move on to someone new?"  
Cognac eyes warmed for him for a split second before icing over with military correctness. "I did."

###  
"Don't talk to me."  
"Not without a court order." Ruby poked her finger into an oozing pastry from the breakfast cart. A critical lick told her it was raspberry jam. She wrinkled her nose and stuck it back in the pile. Ed promptly dumped the whole plate load in the trash can, and before Ruby could protest he emptied his pencil sharpener over the whole mess for good measure. "Prick."  
"You grossed me out, Ruby. Far as I know that finger was probably jammed up your right nostril digging for boogers a minute before you stuck it in that donut. You touch it, you eat it or throw it out. I don't want anybody catching anything off you." Snagging the coffeepot, Ed filled his mug, shoveling in several spoonfuls of sugar before slugging it down and selecting a pastry for himself, thickly glazed and dripping strawberry jelly. "Awright, enough with the scintillating conversation. You got our travel docs? And the passports?"  
"Check. And Dr. Chen's travel visa as a Xingese national."  
"Schematics of my glider?"  
"Check."  
"Itinerary from the Drachman embassy?"  
"Check."  
"Is my suit back from the cleaners?"  
"Nope. The cleaner took one look at the stains all over your trousers and said she wouldn't touch 'em. There's enough spunk there to populate a small city with little Mustangs. Had 'em cleaned by an alchemist. He needed the money for a bottle of wine since he says he got laid off as a combat alchemist since—oh yeah, our Esteemed Fuhrer doesn't want alchemist training for war anymore since there's not supposed to BE anymore war—"  
Ed's voice was even. If she'd known him better she'd have been alarmed. "You can shut up now. In fact," he lifted a hand in caution, "you can shut up forever, if you like. Let's get this done and then you can go back to picking your nose or whatever the government pays you to do around here. Now, there are going to be some encrypted messages between me and the Fuhrer. This is really goddamned important, Ruby: I want those letters. We got the Trans-Amestris underground pathways cleared out now, so bike messengers can get to Briggs in record time. Any message from the Fuhrer, especially encrypted data, needs to reach me or Alphonse immediately. You let anything pile up on your desk and your ass goes right back to Wisteria Valley, got it?"  
"Yeah…I got it…loud and clear." Because she had already spent half an hour this morning with the Fuhrer while Edward was with Dr. Knox-and Alphonse was nibbling on his 'honey buns' at the bakery—being briefed on exactly how much time she's be spending riding a motor bike up and down those tunnels. I'm depending on you to watch his back, Ruby. Will you do this for me? And Mustang made his warm voice drop in to that shivery register that made women want to claw each other's eyes out over him…and of course, she'd sworn on her life that Ed would never miss a single missive.  
"Okay…all that's left are the copies of the minutes of the Aerugoan summit, those alkahestry lecture notes from Mei….and the contact file from our trip to Aerugo."  
Ruby's grin was triumphant. "You want it? You get it from the Fuhrer. Not even Hawkeye's got those files—probably because you're dumb enough to raise hell and start a war and fuck up everything Fuhrer Mustang is trying to accomplish. So three words, little man: No. Can. Do."

"Excuse me, Boss-you've got a visitor outside. Might want to tune things down to a dull roar." Havoc peeked around the corner and saluted. "Guy stopped off to drop by a resume for the Collegium but when he heard you were in the office he said I needed to tell you he's still taller—and you can't catch grasshoppers worth a crap."  
Ed's demeanor changed from sour to excited in a flash. "No…you're kidding. Can't be-"  
"Guy about…oh…tall as you. Brown hair—curls. Biggest shit-eating grin on his face—"  
"PITT!" Ed yelled around the door. "PITT RENBACK! Get your sorry ass in here now!"  
A pair of wicked brown eyes popped up behind Havoc. "That's Doctor Renback to you, Ed. How the hell are you?"  
"…hell yes, I'll get you in to the Institute—"  
"—you'd better. I saved your sorry life back when you got so sick on the road—"  
"—aw, bullshit, Pitt. I wasn't that sick." It was a lie. Ed might have become seriously ill if he and Al hadn't had the good fortune to stop over in the small village where Pitt had gone at 13 to apprentice to the local doctor. Like Ed, Pitt had been born in Resembool, had been Ed's close friend and partner in crime right up until the night the Elric brothers mysteriously went to Dublith following some sort of accident that cost Ed two limbs and allegedly scarred poor Alphonse so badly he hid himself inside Hohenheim's old armor. "Anyway, It's a damn shame you showed up today when I'm getting ready to leave for Drachma—but Ruby—this is my assistant, Ruby, by the way, and since she's not married you're welcome to get her to fall in love with you so she'll quit and get out of my hair—Ruby will get all your paperwork set up and the housing stuff and then when Al and I get back we can start going over your course syllabus. Sound like a plan?"  
"Sounds good, Ed. And…thanks. I didn't want you to think that I was trying to get in because you and me and Al and Winry go way back—"  
"Fuck that shit! You're damned good. Got that from Dr. Knox. You were on the short list and that's why we contacted you."  
"Good. All right, I won't hold you up. If I don't see Al, give him my best, will you?"  
"Damn straight. It'll be like old times." Ed was grinning hugely, happy to give a chance to a childhood friend who was as dedicated to medicine now as he'd once been to terrorizing the girls in class by dumping handfuls of pill bugs down their backs and making them shriek.  
Pitt paused at the door. "Ed….I was sorry to hear about…you know…"  
Ed made a dismissive gesture. "Hey, it happened. We're both adults. She's happy, the kids are doing well over with Teacher and Sig….and Roy and I get along. It's all good."  
"Is she…seeing anybody?"  
Ed looked surprised. "Yeah, but I don't know how long the waiting list is. Why? You got a patient who needs automail? She's the best there is. Ruby, get Pitt the number for Godz of Rush Valley. Give her a call, man. She'll be glad to hear from you—but don't expect any discounts. She probably never forgave you for putting tadpoles in her milk the day of the school picnic—aw, shit!" The noon chimes rang across the square and Ed confirmed it by his pocket watch. "Gotta see Chen about preflight and find out where the hell Al is." He slapped Pitt's palm. "See ya, buddy!"  
"Later, Ed!"  
Ruby stared at Dr, Renback. She liked what she saw. Flipping through Ed's address book she scribbled down the number for Godz Studio. Then she wrote down another number and underlined it three times. "Call this one first. She's usually home after eight."  
Pitt blushed. It made him look even more attractive. "Thanks."  
"Slow on the uptake for a bright boy, isn't he?" It was a shot in the dark, and once again Ruby had hit the target dead on.  
###

It was a slim volume and Roy kept it away from prying eyes, even loving ones.

It was bound in camel hide, stained and yellowed and parts of it were recopied in an inexpert hand.  
He had been blind. Now that his vision had been miraculously restored through the use of Marcoh's Philosopher's Stone, he drank in the written word as if it was the very water of life. He prowled the souks for booksellers—those dusty men with the peculiar wooden carts with shelves that unbuckled and unhooked and swung down from their caravan saddles and one always ran the risk of stepping in fresh dung while carefully thumbing through the scanty assortment of books that were carried from camp to camp, village to village.

It was the scarred man who told him about the booksellers in the souks. It had been there that Scar's brother had found the rare books on forbidden alchemy. "Perhaps," Scar suggested, "there are more to be found. It might be worth your time to befriend the souk sellers to see what other lost knowledge can be recovered."

He never wore his uniform in the souk, preferring simple loose trousers, boots and a shirt that was open enough to let the breeze through and thick enough for his sweat to keep him cool as the day wore on. White skin needed to be covered up, and his almond-shaped eyes marked him as a foreigner, but his clothing carried no threat or promise. One soul, hungry for knowledge who carried coin enough to trade fairly. He would arrive early on market day, just before dawn as the spice merchants scurried about, setting up shady canopies made of dyed cloth that carried the perfume of quassia and santalum and the cleansing white sage. He learned to bring his own cup to the souk and to drink mint tea when offered and give alms to the hungry because that is what one does among the desert people.  
A sheet of tin over a brushfire sizzled with hot bread stuffed with goat cheese and herbs. That was his simple breakfast, that and spiced coffee boiled with the grounds. He said little more than thanks, rinsed his hands as common courtesy before touching the books and made sure not to offer too much or too little. A pile of tomes and scrolls would be carried under the cool awning and the pale man from Amestris would sit with the old booksellers, drinking tea, eating sweets made from candied rose petals and aniseed, playing at mahbusa, remembering not to call it backgammon.

In time he attracted attention. The man was epicene, fingers plump as sausages and he licked his lips far more than needed to keep them moist. He knew not to touch the stranger—or any Amestrian for that matter—but read his eyes and body and saw what he needed to see as he took the man's measure. "There are books—special ones, the Desert Songs, rarest of the rare—that will teach you of what you will not find in your stale alchemy texts, my young friend."  
"I have no interest in poetry."  
"Ah," the bookseller stroked his beard, "these words are a wellspring for the parched spirit, and hidden in them is much that is instructive, wise and of most ancient lore—for those whose eyes are discerning enough to perceive the deeper truths woven into the whole cloth of the songs. Should you find such among my wares—take it with you as a friend and bring him back in the morning. Take him with you under the stars with your wine and your solitude and drink the wisdom like a quenching draught to a dusty throat. Surely it will be of merit for you."  
"As you will," said Roy Mustang.  
"As Ishballah wills," came the gentle correction.

It was a slim volume, hidden among others. A collection of Desert Songs written during the days when Xerxes throve as the jewel of the Eastern Desert. At first glance they might have been interpreted as purely symbolic in their depiction of the passion of the soul for its Creator. Read with reflection and a knowledge of the ancient idioms, their true power shone beyond the simple words:

I kissed your open mouth and it made me drunker than wine  
When the strong glance of my Beloved caught my eyes  
Like alchemy it transformed the base metal of my soul  
It is said that Love is the window from one heart to another  
Since we embraced, friend of my heart  
How can there be any windows, for all the walls have come crashing down?

He read it slowly through the night and in the morning he returned to the souk, money in hand. "It seems I have made a friend, as you say," he told the bookseller. It cost him every cen in his pocket, more that he would have spent on anything that was not essential…but the old man in the souk had been right; it had been wine to his spirit.

If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction  
of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face  
and say, Like this. When lovers moan, they're telling our story.  
don't try to explain the miracle. Kiss me on the lips.

Words of a man to a man. A lover to the beloved. A love he had lost became as clear and sharp as the biting wind that whipped through the rocks at night. A love he needed, so much that the words made his chest ache. A love he would discover when Edward stumbled into the palace sick and injured months ago. A love that could not deny itself as he touched the younger man's body that night in the hospital. A love that Edward could not comfortably phrase out loud but offered clearly to Roy with his eyes and his actions.  
I intend to do all I can for my country. End of story. Once he would have been disgusted with himself for wanting—for needing—more. In the desert after his sight returned he recognized for the first time that he had been blind all along. It took the loss of his vision to bring it to his attention. And when he recognized his feeling for Edward, he became determined not to close his eyes again.

There was no point sharing the words. Ed, as much as Roy loved him, had all the artistic vision of a fence painter. Music he liked well enough but if Roy had given the precious book of Desert Songs to Ed upon parting it would have been mislaid or neglected and Roy regretted that.  
But tonight would be their last night together, and as Roy flipped gently through the well-worn pages he knew that, at least for Edward, actions would speak louder than words.

"Sebastian will lay out your riding gear, since we are going off trail tonight. Meet me after the moon comes up—and don't tell anyone where we're going."  
"Oh yeah…like you take a shit around here, Your Excellency, andtwo dozen people know before you wipe your ass if you ate carrots or peas for dinner."

He'd worn something like it when crossing the desert to Xerxes years ago. Loose light trousers and tunic, and a duster to go with it. And boots, sturdy riding boots, , cut generously on the left to fit over his prosthesis. Hell, he grinned at his rakish reflection, be nice to get out of this madhouse and away from having the whole damn palace with their noses up my butt crack all the time. And what was it Roy had said—a double saddle? Must be some weird tribal thing, he decided, but the thought that they would ride off on their own in the dark—damn…I'm getting hard. Well, let's see what that crazy bastard's got on his mind tonight…

He was late, as Roy expected he would be. "Had to ditch the Hawk," he grumbled. "Y'know how she gets. Finally I told her we were going to have kinky sex in the barn and unless she really wanted to hear a lot of ball slapping and slurping and you cussing because you dropped the lube in a pile of horse shit or something—"  
"Come here." Something in that gently whispered request caught Ed's attention and he stepped into Roy's embrace. The older man was drenched with sweat and shaking. "You okay?" Ed asked hesitantly. In response, Roy sank down to his knees and slid the soft, loose trousers down. "Nothing underneath. Good." Leaning in, he captured the swelling head between his lips and sucked at it with the same savor and attention that he would have given a choice bit of sweet baby lobster tail, as if the taste of the heated flesh had been craved for a long, long time. Two fingers gently tugged at the velvety foreskin and Roy snaked the tip of his tongue between the tip and hood, circling and strumming lightly against that heavenly spot where they joined—a place that made Edward's toes—metal and flesh—curl up and his sac tighten as his body shivered. Satisfied, Roy drew back his head. "Now…hold still….don't…move." A small dagger flashed so fast that Ed didn't have time to yelp in terror—but it was cloth that was slashed, not skin. The back seam of his trousers was neatly split and when Roy told him to pull them back up again Ed was modestly covered again.  
Roy gestured towards Cirrocco. The saddle was of soft tooled camel hide with two sets of stirrups but not so deep as any he'd seen before. There was a rise to the cantle and the seat itself was lower than the pommel and nearly twice as long. "This is not supposed to exist," Roy told him in a hushed voice. "These were banned as immoral in the Ishballan tribes, for it encourages two riders to embrace in an 'unseemly fashion'. But there are tribes and cultures in the desert where the love between two men is a thing of poetry and song. I…I discovered those writings when I returned to the desert and…"  
Edward had never seen Roy struggle for words like this. He seemed…damn it, he was fighting so hard to put so much emotion into a language Ed would understand.  
Strangely, he did. Ed nodded. "You'll have to show me what to do."  
Roy's mouth went dry. He nodded. He used a mounting block to climb up and Ed noticed that the hands that unfastened his trousers were shaking so hard Roy could barely untie the knots. Once he'd freed himself, he reached into his pocket. He held up a tiny vial for Ed's inspection. "Oil of the Moon, they call it. They say it makes it…better…for you."  
"I'm game, long as it doesn't give me a rash," Ed chuckled.  
"It's the butter extracted from coconuts, melted and blended with certain herbs that make things…that make it warm. I tried it. It's an ancient recipe." Two fingers slicked the aromatic mess over the darkly swollen flesh. "Now…come up slowly, and once you're up, rest your weight on the stirrups, lean down on Cirrocco's neck and then…I'll get you ready."

Ed bit down hard on his lip as Roy fell to licking tenderly at the tight muscle that eased swiftly now, welcoming this loving intrusion. He began to sweat heavily, making soft cries of pleasure at being stretched and oiled and sucked at. The warm leather was so smooth against his cock. "I…ahhh…don't think..I…"  
"Sit back. I'll guide you. Slow and steady." Warm hands held his cheeks, held them wide apart. The heat of the horse, the ragged breathing of his lover, the fear of discovery and the thrill of knowing that this was so, so wrong to so many in the world—it was almost more than Ed could bear. It didn't hurt now. He loved this. God, he loved it. Impaled and filled up and stretched almost too full to bear and the inner throbbing of Roy's pulse deep inside….so good….so good.

The minute I heard my first love story I began looking for you  
Not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don't finally meet somewhere  
They were in each other all along…

Under the cloak that concealed them both, chest to back, skin to skin, they leaned together, Roy's arm tight around his lover's waist, steadying him as they rocked gently, carried on the waves of motion of Cirrocco's gait.  
For once Edward ran out of words. His body would no longer do his bidding. There was only a cool blue moon overhead, a mouth that made him whimper, a hard shaft that anchored him and rubbed against the secret sweet spot with each breath, a hand that gave him mindless bliss and the sense that time had stopped for the first time since he'd emerged from the Gateway. Roy was humming softly under his breath, soothing him, breathing poetry and fire against his cheek, surging hard, rising again, surging again. The smells of sweat and semen and horse and leather and the musky tang of magnolia on the night air.

Let the lover be disgraceful, crazy—absentminded  
Somebody sober will worry about things going badly. Let the lover be…

He could not dismount without Roy to hold him steady. The clean straw beneath their blanket felt finer than embroidered Presidential linen and goose down coverlets. He had come and come and come undone and the man who held him loved him. That was all he knew and all that mattered.

You have no idea how hard it was to find a gift for your journey  
It is no good giving my heart and soul because you have these already.  
So I bring you a mirror. Look at yourself and remember me….  
TO BE CONTINUED…. (13th century Sufi love songs freely adapted for the story)


	9. "FREEFALL"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of apprehension, the confrontation Roy has always tried not to think about has come at last: he has to face Gracia Hughes about the truth of his relationship with Maes.   
> Meanwhile, aboard the airship Xerxes, the brothers begin their journey north and Edward begins his journey into Roy's past, reading his lover's own account of his childhood

Freefall  
By The Binary Alchemist 2011

"You okay?"  
Haaaaaakkkksppptui! "Never better."  
Alphonse and Dr. Chen exchanged glances. "This will help." A piece of sugared ginger was passed to Edward, still leaning hard against the guide lines. "Chew on this. It will help settle your stomach."  
"Told you I'm fine, goddamn it."  
"Ed, shut up and eat the ginger." So that's how it's going to be, Alphonse sighed inwardly.  
"What the hell. So I urped my lunch all over-"  
"—Gracia-and Elycia, unfortunately," Al admitted. Still climbing to altitude, he could hear the little girl screaming and sobbing from the manicured field below.  
"I believe you hit the Fuhrer and that gentleman from the radio—what was his name? Ah, Samuelson-San."  
Somewhere below them the reporter's voice drifted up through the atmosphere: "Ladies and gentlemen this is the first disaster—the appalling…oh, the humanity…."  
Grabbing the binoculars, Al could see Roy Mustang coolly mopping something off his shoulder and one cheek, shaking his head. Elycia had dissolved into a puddle of ruffled skirts and petticoats and tears, as Gracia knelt and tried to wipe the child clean of the undigested feast Ed had nervously shoveled down before take off. The ascent had been a bit rough and the gondola had swayed wildly for a moment. Ed, still becoming accustomed to air travel, had been taken by surprise, barely making it to the edge of the basket before vomiting on his friends below. "Fuck." He buried his face in his hands. "What the hell do I do now?"  
Dr. Chen passed him the bull horn. "Tell them you're sorry."  
Ed shoved it back. "Ohhh no-I can't-"  
"Give me that!" Al snatched it away. He leaned over and shouted into the mouthpiece. "Ed says he's sorry he threw up on you—send the cleaning bills to his office. Okay?"  
On the ground below, Ruby gave them the finger. Odds were good that Ruby would be stuck with hauling the fouled garments off and keeping the story out of the papers—and failing. It was funny—well, not to the people who got splattered—but the press would eat it up and someday when Maes heard about it the boy would undoubtedly never let his dad hear the end of it.  
Al stifled a snort of laughter. Ed's fist clipped his shoulder. "You're a real asshole, Alphonse. You mean to tell me you never once puked on ascent?"  
"Never—but you'll get over it. It's because you ate like a pig before we left. Didn't you eat breakfast this morning."  
Ed thought about why he'd missed breakfast—and dinner last night. He grinned hugely. Al recognized that grin and shook his head. Ed looked smug. "I had a light…um….high protein—"  
"NEVER MIND!"

###  
"I...th-that's n-not necessary…Roy. Th-thank you. I'll…just get her home," Gracia stammered at her President as he stepped quickly to her side, ignoring Donnel Samuelson's splutterings and deftly severing the cord to his microphone with a quick snap! while he was staring up at the retreating Xerxes and babbling about the horror of being puked on.  
"Colonel Hawkeye? Please escort Mrs. Hughes and Miss Elycia into the Nursery. Find something suitable for them to relax in while their garments are cleaned and have Sebastian draw a warm bubble bath for this young lady. Gracia, he bowed formally, "I want to apologize for Ed's….lack of intestinal fortitude. The Colonel will provide you with a dressing gown and anything you need in our guest quarters and once you and Elycia have had a chance to…freshen up…I'm sure Sebastian will have an excellent luncheon prepared for you as our guests. And again—I deeply apologize for this."

Hawkeye guided Gracia and Elycia through the crowds and into a private entrance. Gracia glanced over her shoulder. Roy had already turned his back and walked away as if she was nobody. She wanted to protest, but the ordinarily stern looking Riza Hawkeye was smiling kindly at her daughter and now there was a tall, thin man bowing and guiding them towards an ornate brass elevator. "The Nursery suite has a shower and a tub, so that both of our guests may freshen up at the same time. Miss Elycia," he knelt before the child, "would you prefer pink bubbles in your tub or blue?"

Pink bubbles it was, and after Gracia stepped out of the shower she found her daughter singing to herself, splashing contentedly in strawberry-scented foam, Colonel Hawkeye keeping close watch on the child. Two plush dressing gowns had been laid out, along with fluffy towels and slippers. "There is a private balcony in the brother's suite," she was told. "You can sit out there in your robe and slippers and no one can see you. Sebastian has sent up a menu to order from and he'll have your lunch up as soon as you're ready."

Elycia oooh'ed and ahhh'ed over the flower shaped sandwiches with the crusts neatly trimmed away and the slices of rosy apples cut into cute bunny shapes. Her own luncheon of chilled seafood salad and fresh baked rolls was delicious, as were the individual strawberry shortcakes for dessert. The glasses were sparkling, the linens crisply starched and there was even a bouquet on their table of—  
"Roses," Elycia sighed, touching the crimson petals. "Are you gonna cry now, Mommy?"  
There was a long moment of silence. Then Gracia rose and gathered up her freshly ironed dress. "Finish your milk, sweetheart. You sit with Miss Riza while I get dressed," she nodded at the Colonel who was enjoying a bowl of chowder and half a turkey sandwich with them, "I'm going to ….say thank you to your….Uncle Roy."

###  
"Better?"   
Al glanced at his brother who was now digging through his rucksack for something or other. His pale hair was tightly braided as it had been in Ed's younger days to prevent it from flying every which way as the Xerxes slid smoothly through the cloudless sky, bearing north towards Brigg's Mountain. Two days by air, and undoubtedly things would get chilly tomorrow. It was three pm by Al's watch and the air was warm and pleasant, It was so good to be off on an adventure with his brother again. This time there was no urgent mission, nothing threatening Amestris. They were going to study, teach and relax. Ed would be building and testing his design for a glider powered by an internal combustion engine that he boasted would soon take the place of hot air balloons or airships. Alphonse would be working on new airship designs with the Drachmans and finding plenty of pretty girls so that he could tickle their fancies-and anything else hiding under their skirts.  
"If you're wondering if I'm gonna spew all over the deck, the answer's no," Ed called over his shoulder, sounding slightly peevish. "Now, where the hell is—got it!"  
Alphonse clapped his hand comically over his eyes. "If that's that…book…Roy made you, the one with the triple coded lock and all the filthy pictures of you two deviants-"  
"—says the man in the Aerugoan bathtub full of cherry gelatin with half a dozen naked ballerinas and an ostrich feather shoved up his-"  
"—it was raspberry, not cherry-and don't shift this on me." Al huffed back. "Whatever's in that black book of yours I don't want to see it. I'm very pure of heart, you know." He struck a gallant pose, struggling not to burst out laughing. "It might scar me for life."  
Ed stared at him. "Al, you're starting to sound like that pissrag Castellan back in Aerugo—that jerk with the big nose and the smart mouth. The one whose name translates as 'spoiled codfish' in Ishballan." He made a face like a cat licking something particularly nasty out of its fur. "Ain't gonna be missing him anytime soon. And no—this is something different." The envelope was thick manila and bore Roy's personal seal. "Truth is, Al, Roy—y'know this whole Hughes thing hasn't helped him-sure as shit isn't helping Gracia either. You weren't there to see him go off the rails down in the tunnel when he tried to kill Envy. He was like a fuckin' madman. I mean, he's better about it, yeah. But I got him to admit he's gotta get this out of his system or it's gonna hurt our…you know." Al nodded, looking relieved. "He's never talked about it to anybody. Ever. Other than to tell Hawkeye and to tell me. So he's gonna write to me and, y'know—"  
'—get it out and talk about it. That's all to the good, Brother. "  
"Yeah. So if anything happens to me—y'know, like if the glider crashes or whatever-I want you to get these back to him. This is nobody's business but mine and Roy's. Okay?"  
Al clapped his brother on the shoulder. "I promise, Ed."

###  
He didn't nap at his desk quite as much these days. Hawkeye had become more diligent than ever about sneaking up on him whenever his head threatened to nod after lunch. But the Colonel was upstairs taking her noonday meal with Gracia and Elycia and he had had a very, very athletic night of it last night, riding under the moonlight with Edward. The thought of it sent a shiver of pleasure through his insides and his eyes slid closed…

###  
He had mounted Cirrocco and then Edward had mounted him, shaking violently and sweating as the gait of the black mare increased to a trot. Roy had been panting and shivering before but once he touched his heels to his mare's belly and she began to run he was unable to bear it any longer…that tightness that seized him, owned him—the sweaty mane of gold that that bleached to ghostly white under the moon…bursting inside that strong, beautiful body, so hard that he never softened, his seed warming Edward from the inside, causing him to wail and shudder and spill all over Roy's fingers. Roy snatched his hand from his lover's groin and sucked greedily, as if memorizing what he would not taste for so long.  
He had known they would not be able to walk for awhile. In an empty stall he had piled sweet hay and alfalfa into a deep nest, covering it with a half dozen clean barn blankets. They had clumsily stripped, wiped the stickiness from Edward's thighs and nether cheeks and then tumbled into the softness, piling half of the blankets over them although the night was pleasantly warm enough. Roy had fallen asleep so fast Ed hadn't even started snoring, and when he woke briefly to piss in the middle of the night Ed had grunted and whined in protest, reaching for Roy in his sleep.

He had been jolted awake by Ed screaming, "Goddamn it, don't you piss on me, mutt!" Black Hayate had sniffed them out and was cocking his leg inches from their heads. "Git!" He clapped his hands as if preparing for a transmutation and the dog had run for his life, as if he feared Ed would attempt to neuter him through alchemy. A moment later Hawkeye called out, "Good morning, Fuhrer President, Professor Elric. It's 5:45. I believe you might want to shower and dress before the Xerxes takes off…"  
A snap of his fingers and warm air spiraled around his lover, effectively drying the wet tangles that Roy then brushed to silken smoothness. Ed sat between Roy's thighs on the bed as the older man's fingers made neat work of braiding the heavy mass. It was nearly down to his waist. There had been a brief flash of jealousy. Another man—a younger man, some handsome young physicist or officer—grappling and sweating in the dark with this beautiful body, so far away from home. He dismissed it quickly. There would be no talk of jealousy or insecurity or any coaxing for assurances of fidelity—that had been Winry's mistake, one of them, at least. Either you trusted Ed or you didn't.  
Before Ed had dressed, he leaned back into Roy's embrace, eyes blissfully closed as Roy bit down and sucked hard on the nape of his neck, marking him. In turn, Edward's heated mouth latched on just below Roy's ear, right above his collar, leaving a livid love bite that Roy had to cover with a dab of cosmetics before stepping out onto the airfield, under the sun and the scrutiny of a hundred press cameras…

###  
"Fuhrer Mustang?"  
His head jerked up. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. A slim, brown haired woman in a freshly laundered summer dress, smelling not unpleasantly of that handmade floral soap they stocked in the guest rooms whenever female guests of state stayed at the Presidential Palace. Her posture was tense, and the expression of her face blended fear and anger in nearly equal portions. Her arms were clamped at her side, fingers curling and uncurling. He could hear her breath coming in tight little gasps.  
His smile was ambiguous and deliberately non-threatening. He doubted she would harm him. At any rate, unless she had a gun or one of Maes' knives—he seriously doubted she could use either one with any real effectiveness—he could block any blow she might offer him. Or not. Perhaps, if it made her feel better, he'd let her take a swing at him.  
"Ah. Gracia. Sorry. We were out rather late last night and what with getting the Xerxes off before noon I think we got perhaps four or five hours of sleep."  
She said nothing.  
"Your dress….I see they've gotten it clean. Good. And Elycia? Is she feeling better now?"  
One foot moved closer to the desk. Her shoulders visibly tightened. She opened her mouth. He waited.  
"All…these…years…" Her eyes began to glimmer with moisture. "All these years….and now you finally ask how my daughter is?"  
Roy's features smoothed over into an unreadable mask. "I'm sorry. I'm not sure I understand."  
Another step closer. "If…if you cared…so much for my husband…I'd like to think you'd give a damn about his only child!"  
"Gracia—"  
She cut him off sharply, her face beginning to crumple. "You…it…if…you…gave a damn about…my…about Maes…how do you think he'd feel about the way you…y-you-"  
"The way I what, Gracia?" His voice was dangerously soft. Inside his Pyrotex glove, his thumb and middle finger twitched involuntarily, as would often happen when Roy perceived a threat to himself or anyone he was protecting.  
She saw his fingers stir, just a little. She clamped her mouth shut and her face folded. She felt like someone had stepped on her chest. It was hard to draw a breath. He's going to hurt me. Something screamed in the back of her head and she fought back the terror. He could burn me to ashes…would he do that? Because Maes wanted to be normal and have a good life instead of…of… The mental image that taunted her dreams came rushing up to her conscious mind—the image of Maes' strong, naked body, his thick, steely cock in Mustang's mouth….or Roy forcing a sobbing, pleading Maes down on his knees and brutally plunging in, yanking her husband's crisp black hair and laughing like a madman as Maes screamed for his wife to save him….  
"Bastard." It was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. A slim hand clapped itself over her mouth, a hand that still bore the plain gold band Maes had slipped on her finger when he came home from the war.  
Mustang didn't flinch. "If there's something you need to say to me, Gracia, go ahead and say it. How do I think Maes would feel about the way I…?"  
"You hurt my daughter!" It came out in a rush. Her head was reeling as if she were in freefall, and her mouth tasted as bitter as if she was vomiting the words. "You hurt me."  
"How?"  
Was he blind? Was this man—this leader of the nation—so clueless that he genuinely had no idea of what it was doing to her—the roses. The rumors. The "other Mrs. Hughes". The picture of them Maes insisted on hanging in a place of honor as graduate officers. The other picture he kept on his desk of the two of them as young soldiers on the field, arms looped over each other's shoulders and grinning hugely. Had they just crawled out of their tent after a night of-"My husband was normal!"  
Roy blinked in surprise. "He was. I can't imagine you would have cause to think otherwise."  
"Why….why did you make him do it?'  
Ah. So we come to it at last, after all these years. "Madame," Roy's voice was calm and there was no condescension in his tone. "I didn't make him do anything, Gracia. Ever.'  
"Edward…he admitted it to me….said that you and my…that you and Maes…had…were…"  
"In love." He lifted his chin proudly. "Once." The fingers twitched and he made a conscious effort to still them. "He went on furlough. He met you. We came back from the war and he married you. I became his…best friend. End of story."  
"But—"  
"He gave me up. He made a choice, Gracia," he leaned forward for emphasis. "And I did not overstep that line from the day you took his name to the day he died. Rising, he walked unsteadily to the window, gazing out on the horizon. Ed was somewhere out there, traveling north with a letter from Roy in his hands, a letter that began to tell the love story he did not want to discuss with this woman on this of all days.  
"I carried loss that with me all the days of your marriage. And when they…buried him…I had to stand there like the Perfect Tin Soldier and hide my grief while you had the public approval to mourn him and be comforted. Don't talk to me about hurt, Gracia."  
Her voice was low and shaking. "You admit it. You seduced my husband. You—"  
Roy's dark eyes flashed with ironic amusement. "He seduced me, Ma'am. He was my first—and until Edward and I became aware of…of what we felt, he was the only one I felt so…even…if we agreed to…stop being together…" He cleared his throat. "This is not something I prefer to discuss. Suffice it to say, Gracia, that I did not seduce your husband. There was no coercion. He came to me when we were cadets because he wanted me. And I wanted him."  
It took an effort to force her legs to carry her to the sofa. She dropped down onto the leather upholstery as if her knees had been shot out from under her.  
Maybe it would have been kinder if he had burned her to ashes…

###  
'Here, You're hungry, right?"  
Ed grinned and snatched the sandwich away from his brother and bit down on the soft crusty bun with an audible rumble from his belly. His eyebrows lifted. "Damn, that's good. I'll say this for Chef Ramsay—I may not like the guy, but the son of a bitch knows how to make a corned beef sandwich. Got any pickles?"  
"Fresh ones—no chips, though. They blow all over the place. Want some pretzels?"  
"I'll take a cold beer if we got any."  
Dr. Chen waggled his finger at Ed between bites of cold rice rolls stuffed with pickled fish. "Even if we had it that might not be wise considering your gastric upset earlier. Did you find the letter you were searching for earlier?"  
Ed slapped the breast of his flight jacket. "Yeah. Roy's got a whole bunch of stuff about the Collegium he wants to talk about, so I'll be getting a shitload of mail from him."  
"Sealed with a kiss—OWWW!" Alphonse yelped as his sibling smacked him smartly on the shoulder with a worn copy of The Basic Principles of the Internal Combustion Engine.  
"Not funny, little brother," Ed grumbled. A nervous glance pleaded silently with his younger brother not to divulge the real nature of Roy's missives. A quick nod of understanding made Ed sigh with relief. "We'll be heading for landfall in about two hours," Dr. Chen informed them. "I officially relieve you from watch so you can finish your sandwich in peace."  
Ed scooted back into the back corner of the gondola which was shielded from the wind. Looking a little guilty he pulled out the thick envelope from home and secured the corner of the letter with a heavy, weighted clip so that it was less likely to blow away.

Edward—  
If you're reading this then you are, hopefully, safely en route or already in Drachma—and the Palace is a good deal quieter in your absence—  
"Asshole," Ed growled.  
-but the bed will be a good deal colder. Neither one of us is fond of—what was it you called it? 'Sentiment and slop'?—so I won't detail what my current emotional state is. Suffice it to say that I will be sleeping on your side of the bed with your pillow—and my side will remain empty until you return.  
I knew that someday I'd be asked to write my memoirs, even though I find that thought repulsive. However, if you don't tell your own story then someone else will tell it for me. If I die before you—quite likely I will as I am older—and I have not written my biography, let someone we know and trust read parts of these letters. This is Truth—or truth as well as I can tell it from my own decidedly biased point of view.  
To begin with—like you I was orphaned at an early age. My mother drew her last breath before I drew my first. She never saw or touched me. Thankfully my father did not blame me for this, because he loved my mother very much. I have seen her pictures and it is as if seeing my own reflection cast in a delicate, feminine mould. Now you know where my striking good looks come from, including my fair skin and the cast of my eyes which caused me to be taunted quite a bit from the pure-blooded Amestrian children.   
Like Alphonse as a child, I had few clear memories of Major Roy Mustang, second of that name and born of a long tradition of military service. He served in the Light Cavalry prior to receiving his State Alchemist certification. His code name was   
Wind Storm Alchemist, since his particular skill involved manipulating air currents into whirlwinds. Since manipulating noble gasses with controlled ignition is my own specialty it is not surprising that I take after my father in skill.  
What I remember was him taking great pride in me and encouraging me to be proud of myself. If I fell he helped me to stand and then praised me for not giving up. He was thankfully not at all like Maes, whose gushing over Elycia was downright embarrassing. Father was quiet, thoughtful and his words of encouragement meant everything to me. He called me his 'brave little soldier' and he saluted me every morning before leaving for work.  
One day he saluted and he never came back.  
Cretans killed alchemists in the field by blowing their hands off so they could not transmute. Very effective. If the Ishbalans had thought that through I never would have come home.  
Army orphans with no one to take them in went into a government sponsored 'crèche'. I remember bad smells and being fed endless meals of vegetable soup and bread and cold water showers and trying to be a 'brave little soldier' and not cry for my father. Every day one or two of my playmates were missing at the breakfast table. Adopted, they told us, but you know the story of Bradley. I don't think I need to spell it out for you.  
What saved me was the arrival of a gruff, chain smoking woman with cat-green eyes and too much perfume. She was big, she was loud and she frightened me.  
"This is your Aunt Chris. She is your father's younger sister. She's agreed to give you a home." They looked queerly disappointed by this, and in hindsight I shudder to think what they and the Father had planned for me. Would I too be injected with the Philosopher's Stone? I do not doubt it one bit.  
Edward felt his insides churn. Roy…a homunculus? It was a sickening thought, and once again he had good reason to be grateful to Madame Christmas.  
The truth of it was this: my mother was of mixed blood. I was one quarter Xingese, not pure Amestrian. My father's choice in love branded him suspicious—that was why he was sent to be cannon fodder at the Cretan front. My father's choice in love turned the Mustangs against him—all except for his little sister. "The only thing lower than a man who married outside of the Amestrian nation—even though your mom was only half Xingese—was a dirty whore," she told me. "But I had a copy of a will he had signed that designated me as your legal guardian, so after a shitload of fights they finally gave in and let me take you away."  
A forgery, I'm sure you guessed. But Aunt Chris had her reasons. She had been in the resistance underground since her youth. She had long ago recognized the corruption in our country. My father loved his country, but like so many of us he was blind to what was glaringly obvious to Aunt Chris: Amestris was a military dictatorship and we would not stop until we annexed and controlled everyone around us.  
And yet, when I told her I intended to enlist, she told me, "okay, hot shot. Change the world from within." I was rather confused at this. She figured I 'd wise up eventually and she was right.  
I had gone from the tutelage of Master Berthold Hawkeye to Officer's Candidate School in rapid succession. It seemed as if my dream of becoming a State Alchemist would come true at last. And while Master was vehemently opposed to my enlistment, Aunt Chris said simply, "your father would be proud" and left it at that.  
Let me say for the record that I loathed OCS. Everyone hates it, with the exception of the Drill Instructors who take sadistic pleasure in tormenting the Plebes—who are also being tortured by their upper classmen. Hazing and harassment was something to be tolerated, survived and shrugged off.  
There was this one Plebe in our barracks that caught more hell than the rest of us put together—an Ishballan boy named Heathcliff Arber. Strange to see boys of other races complain loudly about how he smelled bad and they didn't want him touching them or sitting near them. Drenched in sweat on the obstacle course, we all reeked equally. One group of upper classmen I particular made it their duty to harass him at least once a day. They would bump into him, mutter racist remarks under their breaths and pointedly pick up their trays and walk to the opposite end of the dining hall if he tried to take a seat with our class.  
It was the Haves, as I called them—the boys from families with rank and power—that gave Arber such a bad time. I was a Have Not, the adopted son of a whore with a dead father, but because of my alchemy people generally didn't want to mess with me. They left me alone and I was fine with that.  
But I'd be lying to say that the tension wasn't getting under my skin, and one afternoon it snapped over something so stupid as a slice of spinach quiche…  
….TO BE CONTINUED…..


	10. Chapter 10

"LOCO PARENTIS"  
By The Binary Alchemist 2011  
The conductor grimaced. Small children were disgusting at times.  
There was snot and dirty hand prints all over the window from the wiggling little hurricane that squirmed and pointed and asked "why" this or "what" that until anyone other than a doting grandparent would have frog marched the little beggar to the lavatory for a few good swats on the behind. But no, the tall woman with black braids just kept smiling at the imp as if every endless question was important.  
There was, however only one thing more annoying than a child who wouldn't sit still and be quiet. An adult that wouldn't stop complaining.  
Oh, he was a fine nob, he was. Aerugoan from the cut of his clothes and the accent and the way he kept rapping on the window with his walking stick and going hemm-hemm! and calling out You! You there! to get his attention. Any decent Amestrian would have simply pulled the bell and waited for a conductor or porter to come and assist him. And they'd have tipped him for the two extra pillows.  
"NAAAANAAAHHHH! Nana Zumi! I gotta piss!"  
"Maes, didn't we agree that the nice word when you have to go is 'pee'? And you just went less than half an hour ago. I think you want me to take you because you're bored."  
"Welllllll…." The little blond heaved a dramatic sigh and folded his chubby arms across his chest. Then he poked his little sister. "Nina, get up! I wanna thumb wrestle!" He held up a grubby hand and waggled his thumb. "Betcha you can beat me this time!"  
The little brunette whimpered, rubbed her eyes and burrowed her face deeper into the chest of the bearded giant who held her on his lap. "Nuh-huhhh. G'way, brudder!"  
'Nanaaaaaahhhh…."  
"No, Maes. Now settle down." She tugged out a picture book from her cavernous travel bag. "Why don't we read a story together? This one is called 'The King's Alchemist and the Dragon of Zhao Mountain'…" The woman began telling the old folk tale in a low, animated voice, doing all the character voices and the little boy stopped squirming and became spellbound. The conductor sighed and glanced at his watch. Eight more hours to Central.  
"AhhhHEMM-HEMM!" The walking stick rapped on the window sharply. The conductor cursed under his breath and made his way up the aisle to the dark haired man with the rather prominent nose and a prominent attitude to match it.  
"Yes, sir?'  
The dark man glanced irritably over his shoulder. "That racket is bloody annoying." He glared towards the family with the loud mouthed little boy, then dug into his pocket for his ticket. "Look, I'm on important business in Central City. I need to be well rested and with all this ruckus I can't close my eyes. Surely you can see your way clear to find me a seat in First Class…?"  
"We've been over this before, sir," the Conductor spoke calmly and slowly as if explaining alchemy to a two year old. "This is a Coach Class Ticket. And I can't upgrade you to First Class because it's full. No seats. And I don't know how they run the trains in your country, sir, but in Amestris we don't bump passengers out of their seats unless the Fuhrer himself is boarding—"  
"—and I'm telling you again that Fuhrer Mustang and I are friends. He and the Elric brothers were my personal guests at my villa this winter. If Roy knew that I was receiving such appalling treatment in his country, he'd-"  
"—tell you to shut up, stop whining and stay in your seat.' The Conductor leaned in close, grinning with sugar-coated malice. "See, back when he was Colonel, Mustang used to ride on my train when I worked the East City to Central line. He'd give up his comfy first class seat to women with children and sit in the back with his men and never once complained about the service. Good man, Mustang."  
"Fine. I'll suffer through this, but I'm warning you that as soon as I return to Aerugo I'll shall be filing a complaint with my government."  
"Do that, Sunny Jim. You do that. Anything else?"  
"Yes! As a matter of fact, that highly shellacked lavatory paper is worthless and about as useful as sandpaper for its avowed purpose. I need you to bring me something that actually does the job."  
The conductor stared at him for a long moment. Then he reached down and plucked the silk foulard out of the man's breast pocket. "Here you go, Sunny Jim. Should be soft enough for a dainty feller like you. And mind you don't flush it or the lav will back up and soil your pretty tootsies." Tugging the bill of his black cap, the Conductor stalked towards the rear. "Obnoxious git," he grumbled as the man from Aerugo stalked angrily up the aisle towards the First Class lavatory as if it was his birthright to wipe his bum with softer tissue. He was greeted at the door with by the First Class Conductor, already tipped off by the Coach Conductor that there was 'a real ratbag' in Coach who thought himself too good to ride with the hoi-polloi and the working class. The First Class conductor smiled nastily and pointed towards the rear of the Coach car. "It's that way, sir!" and shut the door firmly in Castellan Bacalla's face.  
His cane poked the carpet runner with such force he seemed to be stabbing something as he made his way towards the Coach lavatory. As he passed the little family of four a blonde head popped up. "HI!" The blond giggled. "You got hair in your nose, you know that?"  
"Maes!"  
"He does, Nana!"  
The woman with the braided hair shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir. He's just at that age where the blurt out everything that comes to their minds."  
The tall man made a sour face and slammed the lavatory door behind him.  
"Nana, I need to piss!" Maes was squirming and crossing his legs. "I gotta go now!"  
Izumi sighed and closed the story book, marking her place with a hair pin. "Oh, all right, Maes! Can you go by yourself or do you want me to go with you?"  
"I'm BIG! I go my ownsome now!"  
"All right. But wait until the other man comes ou-MAES!" It was too late. Maes had shot down the aisle like a rocket, yanked open the lavatory door and then hastily retreated, up the aisle, holding his nose.  
Unfortunately, he forgot to close it behind him.  
"NANA! It stinks in the potty! That man's farting there!" Sig's lip twitched. Izumi wanted to transmute herself into a piece of hand luggage and hide from all the staring eyes. "M-Maes…..close the door! We don't open the bathroom door when someone is using it!"  
"Go on, son," Sig urged. Maes shrugged dramatically and marched back, pinching his little nose. "And tell him you're sorry," Sig called back.  
Before he could accomplish this mission the dark haired man shot out of the lavatory, snatched Maes up by the back of his shirt and carried him down the aisle, dangling at the end of his arm. He stopped in front of the Curtises. "I believe this is yours." He dropped Maes in Izumi's lap. "What that boy needs-"  
She stood up. She gave him The Look. The Look that Edward and Alphonse dreaded. The Look that could melt concrete and send wild animals yelping for cover. Her eyes flashed dangerously. She cracked her knuckles.  
Bacalla froze. This wild haired woman had an expression that reminded him dangerously of the Sun King when he cheerfully reminisced about putting people's heads on pikes—while still attached to living bodies.—is…a…good…walloping…?"  
"Honey? Are you hungry? Want me to bring you something from the dining car?" Izumi called out the back door of the Coach compartment. Sig Curtis was standing on the little platform, enjoying the fresh air and watching as the verdant pasture land sped by.  
"A dozen sandwiches and a gallon of iced tea. I'll be in after a little while, dear."  
One beefy arm was resting on the guardrail. The other was outstretched over the retreating train tracks. Dangling from the end of his arm, limply, was the Castellan of the Royal House of Aerugo. He had soiled his shorts in terror but at least he had stopped complaining. "My grandson says you're stinky. Maybe it will help if I air you out a little…."  
"Suffice it to say, Gracia, that I did not seduce your husband. There was no coercion. He came to me when we were cadets because he wanted me. And I wanted him."  
She sat silently on the couch, pale and stunned. Ed had told her it was the truth. She had prepared herself to be dignified and mature. But when she had arrived with Elycia at the landing field outside the new palace and saw him it was as if all her good intentions and resolve had evaporated, leaving room for the demons of jealousy to eat at her anew. That….face. Handsomer than any cinema star, although he wasn't all that tall or muscular. It was the way he carried himself with supreme self confidence and that occasional boyish smile that made women swoon and men envy him. She had to admit he was handsome. It was easier to think of Roy Mustang like a predatory cat, flashing those exotic black eyes and leading Maes astray against his will.  
It was a little lie she told herself over and over, the way a child suckles her thumb night after night to comfort herself in the dark.  
"He wanted me. And I wanted him….we were in love."  
"You loved my…you loved Maes?"  
Mustang nodded slowly. "There were other…casual relationships. Men and women, although most of the women I dated for information about Bradley. Women who slept with the insiders in the regime." He smiled faintly. "Maes kept harping on the fact that an unmarried officer attracts all kinds of suspicion." His eyes were focused in the distance now. He wasn't even seeing her—and now he was smiling broadly at a memory that warmed him. "We almost never had a phone conversation when he didn't say 'hurry up and get yourself a wife, Roy!' Always pissed me off , and I'd slam the phone down in his ear." The smile quickly faded. "Part of that," he rubbed at his forehead as if to soothe an ache that wouldn't go away "was because he wanted me to advance to the top and straighten out this country. He wouldn't admit it….but I think the real reason was to protect you and Elycia—so that no one would tie us together." She opened her mouth to argue. He lifted his hand for silence. "Please, let me continue. Maes and I were discreet when we…were…" He cut himself off and she could see by the pained look on his face that it was costing him a great deal to say these things. "That was part of what he found problematic about our relationship. That—and he wanted a family. He wanted the 'Amestrian Dream'. He couldn't have that and have me too. He loved me…but I'm no fool. It was only a matter of time before he found a woman and settled down. I knew that. I understood that, even if he didn't." He bowed his head and his words trailed off into silence.  
"And you knew he was going to marry a girl—and you loved him?" Gracia asked softly.  
When he finally looked up and answered her, his expression showed her everything she hadn't wanted to see."I still do. And I swear to you—I swear to you, Gracia, if there had been any way for that bullet to have taken my life instead of his, I wouldn't have hesitated. Maes was the most-"  
There was a sharp rap on the door. Mustang rose abruptly. "What is it?"  
Havoc opened the door, accompanied by a freshly dressed Elycia and Colonel Hawkeye. 'Major Havoc will accompany you home, Gracia," Roy said softly. He smiled a little at Elycia. "By way of Il Gattina Bakery, of course. I know Alphonse would want to treat you to…what are those things called, Major?"  
"Kookie Kats, Sir!"  
"Indeed. We'll have to see if Maes and Nina like them when we see them this fall."  
Elycia's eyes lit up. "I'm going to see Ed's kids?"  
Roy nodded. "Absolutely. You'll be the first to be invited to come and play. Hopefully," he glanced at Gracia apologetically, "his language will have improved by then, but if he says any bad words you let us know and we'll make him stop. Okay?"  
"Okay!"  
Roy knelt awkwardly and offered the child his hand. "I've very glad you came to see me, young lady. Take care of your mother."  
'Yes, Uncle Roy."  
He studied the child for a moment. "You have your father's eyes." He rose and bowed to Gracia. "Thank you for coming, ma'am. And…one thing more. You were concerned about the…about flowers being….misdelivered….to the cemetery. I'll…see to it."  
One look at his flushed face told her what that promise had cost him. She nodded. "I appreciate that."  
He was in the dark again.  
She flipped on the light. He didn't move.  
She placed a cup of black coffee at his elbow and removed the bottle of scotch. He didn't even look at her.  
"Sir?" A pen was placed in his numb fingers. "I believe you have a letter to write. Soon as you're done, I'll have a courier take it up the tunnels. We'll have it at Fort Briggs as soon as Edward gets there."  
She was halfway out the door. "Colonel?"  
"Sir?"  
"You know me too well."  
"Yes Sir." She was glad he couldn't see the regret on her face. "Goodnight, Sir."  
" Hello, Winry? Yes, dear—the children are fine. No, Nina didn't get sick at her stomach—she's much better on trains than in cars. I'm sure she'll outgrow it. We've got a hotel suite for tonight and we're going over to the palace first thing in the morning. Riza has already checked Roy's schedule and he's off all morning. I'll make sure they've gotten plenty of rest and are full of beans when they go over to meet their Uncle Roy. I'll call you tomorrow night and let you know how it went. Have a good night, dear. 'Bye!"  
"Pinako? Izumi. Yes, everything's going well—well, there was this little incident with some Aerugoan fool who got upset over Maes barging in on him in the toilet, but other than that—no, Nina's been a little angel. So, when does your train get in to Central? Uh huh. Good. We're two stops away and—MAES! Don't you dare stick those gumballs up your-oh, hell. Pinako, I'll see you when we get to Central—you do have your tools with you, right? We might need them. I'd hate to ask Dr. Knox to fish something out of the kid's nostril, not after he's had to deal with Ed all this time…"  
They'd set up camp in an open field. They could have flown through the night but Al had determined that some inclement weather was on the way and didn't want to take any chances. "Twenty four hours," he sighed, ducking his head as he slipped into the tent Ed had set up for the brothers. "We've got the envelope stored and I've raised a canopy over the gondola. Everybody else is settled in except those taking first watch tonight. Pity we can't contact Fort Briggs from here but the nearest village is so far off it would be a waste of time to cycle all that way and back."  
"Cycle?"  
Al grinned. "Sure! Got this little folding bike stashed away for reasons like this."  
Ed was impressed. "Damn, you come prepared, don't you? Only thing you don't have is a condom machine."  
"Don't need one with this crew." He giggled and for a second looked for all the world like a mischievous little boy. "Listen, I'm going to sit up with Chen-san for awhile. You want to join us?"  
Ed waved him off. "Nah, s'okay. Gonna read a bit and the catch up on some sleep. Wake me for my watch, okay?"  
"Sure thing."  
As soon as Alphonse slipped away, Ed dug into his rucksack for the book Al had teased him about earlier. It was hand made, bound in finely grained black leather and had a locking cover that required three different codes to open.  
Owner's Manual. It was printed on the cover in silver. Inside were the most private and precious things Edward possessed since his relationship with Roy began. Some very personal letters, many times folded. A napkin, stained in butter, from Madame Christmas' restaurant from their private dinner on Ed's birthday. A sprig of 'rosemary for remembrance' from Rose Hill, the mansion that became the new Palace, the old Palace (once the stately home of the Armstrong family) now housing the Hohenheim Institute.  
And then there were the pictures. Many were steamy. Some downright illegal in some states. Some were funny, while others were serious. He flipped through the volume and drew a snapshot from it's sleeve. It was taken by Alphonse of Roy on Cirrocco's back on a sunny afternoon. The wind was whipping Roy's hair around and his shirt was half unbuttoned from the heat. He'd just come from a hard gallop along the very back trails that Roy and Edward had ridden together in the moonlight. Roy's face was lightly sunburnt, his hair was a mess and he was laughing out loud, eyes dancing. There was no formality, no tension. This was the man Edward was missing tonight.  
He lay back on his bedroll and wondered how Roy was, what he was doing tonight. "Stuck in the damn office, I bet," he sighed. Roy's cure for almost anything was to bury himself in his alchemic studies but if Hawkeye caught him skiving off she'd bury him in paperwork instead.  
His fingers brushed over the letter Roy had sent him. He reached for it—then changed his mind. No, better to draw it out as long as he could. Hopefully, there would be another missive when he got to Ft Briggs.  
The bedroll was cold. It would be easier to sleep once Al came in. He'd gotten comfortable, to his surprise, with the sound of another person in his living space. Funny…he'd never felt like that when he was married. He'd always slept better when he didn't have to share his bed back then. Tonight he'd miss Roy's body warmth and the way he smelled and the sound of his breathing. "Have a good night, asshole," he told the picture, touching in briefly before closing his eyes.  
It had been a bad night. A hell of a bad night and a bad hangover and a very, very unrequited erection that was poking his belly, demanding a certain mouth to capture it—one very, very specific mouth. He missed the smell of steel and machine oil, and buried his face in the pillow to catch the lingering scent of Ed's shampoo and hair.  
He didn't want to toss off. It was like giving in to loneliness. "Forget it, he told his very angry phallus. He would get out of bed, take a chilly shower, have a cup of black coffee and head for the office. No-wait. There was nothing pressing on the docket. Fuck. He was sure Hawkeye would find something to keep him busy—like an avalanche of unsigned papers.  
There was some commotion in the hall but he ignored it. Anything important and Sebastian would have tipped him off. Some sort of household squabble.  
He rose, wincing as his head throbbed. He stretched, popping his back and glancing down at the stubborn erection. Suddenly he imagined Ed bending over the mattress, long hair spilling over the sheets, growling rudely for Roy to hurry up and fuck him. Roy's eyes slid shut and he struggled manfully with the urge to touch or not touch.  
His manhood decided for him. His hand slid down his chest, teasing his nipples the way Ed would have done-  
BOOM!  
The door slammed open and a blond tornado shot into the room. "HEY! UNCLE ROY!"  
Roy spun around. A small boy with golden eyes was staring in astonishment the Presidential Penis, flushed and swollen and dripping and at full salute.  
The small boy pointed. "Uncle Roy—your THING is sticking up!"  
Then he giggled like a fiend.  
….TO BE CONTINUED…..


	11. "The Pitter-Patter of Rampaging Little Feet"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s no escape for Roy Mustang. The Presidential Palace of Amestris has been invaded—by a little blond tornado who’s obsessed with bodily functions, has no respect for privacy and whose mouth is as gleefully profane as his father, Edward.

"The Pitter-Patter of Rampaging Little Feet"

Once they had arrived at Central Station Sig Curtis had lowered the Castellan of the Royal Court of Aerugo gently to the platform. "I'll call and have someone pick you up. Or do you want a ride to the Palace with us? We're staying in the hotel tonight but we can drop you off on the way."  
Bacalla tried to fit his brain around that news flash. "Y-y-you…are going to the Palace?"  
Izumi beamed. "Maes and Nina can't wait to meet their Uncle Roy."  
Waitaminute….Maes….and Nina?

When he was poking around in the guest rooms during the Fuhrer's stay he found a leather framed picture of a fair-haired boy with a huge grin and a pretty brown haired toddler. He'd heard Edward Elric telling the Prince's sister Elena that he had two young children, Maes and Nina. "They live with my alchemy master and her husband in Dublith but once things settle down they'll come up to stay part of the time with me and Roy."

Egad. That little blond terror was…it had to be…Maes Elric. And Bacalla had just snatched the little bastard up by the collar and dumped him in the lap of….holy mierda…the legendary alchemist Izumi Curtis Prince Claudio's spies had brought back stories about—the one that killed a grown bear with a belt knife and dragged the carcass through Fort Briggs over one shoulder.  
So…he had just manhandled Edward Elric's son—for all intents and purposes, the step-son of Fuhrer Roy Mustang, who could snap his fingers and incinerate the short hairs off a man's coglioni with pinpoint accuracy.  
"Maledicalo!" He clamped his coat tails down over his soiled trousers and ran for the waiting room.  
###  
"Castellan Bacalla?"  
"He's over here, miss." The Station Master waved in the general direction of a huddled figure curled up in the corner of the waiting room. There was a plate of sandwiches and a carafe of fragrant coffee that were untouched by his elbow. "Been here since we pulled in late last night. Refused to move. Said that a presidential escort was coming for him. Between you and me, miss-that's an odd feller and he's in a bad way. Couldn't even get off the train on his own. Big guy built like a fieldstone privy had to carry him off the car." His voice lowered a fraction. "Said he'd crapped himself on the train. Looks like he's not doing well."  
"Like I care." The young woman tugged off her leather cycling helmet and a tumble of glossy black hair spilled over her shoulders. The insignia on her shoulder identified her as a civilian attached to the government. She strode over and gave the man a poke in the shoulder. "Hey! You Bacalla?" He blinked at her in confusion. "Pio Ignacio Bacalla? Mustang sent me."  
The eyes went wild. "P-p-please…take me to His Excellency…I wish to protest the appalling treatment at the hands of—"  
The Station Master cut in. "I have a statement from two conductors, one porter and the engineer." He handed Ruby a folded sheet of official railway stationary. She scanned the hastily scribbled note:

"To Whom It May Concern—  
We want to state for the official record that the passenger listed as P. Bacalla, traveling north from over the Aerugo border, has acted like a first rate troublemaker the whole time he was aboard. He complained, threatened, refused to follow safety orders from the Conductor, tried to intrude into a section of the train he didn't have a ticket for, and harassed a small child by frightening it, shouting at it and then bodily dragging the child by his shirt collar halfway down the car and dropping him. The child's grandfather had to restrain him to protect the boy and his sister from further harassment.  
This passenger claims to be a 'close, personal friend' of Fuhrer President Mustang and is carrying diplomatic papers, although we can't verify if they are genuine. He is headed north to Ft. Briggs. He has been warned that since he cannot conduct himself in a safe and respectful manner that Rail Amestris has exercised the right to ban him from use of passenger trains pending a countermanding of that order from the President's office."

"All right, pops—let's get rolling. I've got your ride outside."  
The black eyes seemed to clear and now they snapped with anger. "Young lady. I am on a diplomatic mission to Drachma representing the nation of Aerugo. I demand-"  
"Stow it. Get your stuff. Let's roll." Bacalla rose shakily to his feet. She sniffed hard, grimaced and then held up one hand. "Buddy, you stink! What'd you do, step in dog shit or something?"  
Bacalla had been so traumatized that he'd momentarily forgotten soiling his shorts while Sig Curtis had dangled him over the tracks for the last few hours of the trip to Central. "Uh…something like that, yes."  
"Well, you go clean the hell up. I'll wait. You aren't getting in my nice clean side car smelling like that. It's a long trip to Briggs."  
"Side car?"  
"Yeah." She waved the letter from the engineer. "Looks like you screwed the pooch far as going by train. I gotta get you to Drachma."  
"I'm sure the President would provide official transportation—"  
"Look," she grumbled in exasperation, "you can't go by rail. Mustang wants to get you up there as fast as you can to catch up with the Elrics. And the fastest way," she grinned sadistically, envisioning of how Bacalla would enjoy roaring through the subterranean tunnels in the side car of her motorbike, "means you ride with me. Got it?"

###  
"Uncle Roy-your thing is sticking up!"

It was indeed, with one hand clutching it at the root, while the other hand was pinching a nipple that was flushed dark rose against the pale skin of Roy's chest.  
In an instant, his face had flushed too.  
Wide gold eyes stared intensely at his still rigid cock. "I…ah…who…?"  
Damn it. It couldn't be anybody else. Not with that devilish grin and that stubborn twig of unruly hair that stuck out from the top of his head. Ed…if you knew about this…your death will be sudden and violent and as humiliating as I can manage.  
Scavenging his soul for a lingering ounce of dignity, he let go of cock and nipple and stood up straight. He inwardly ordered the muscles of his face to form a smile. "Hello, Maes. It's good to see you. I'm your Uncle Roy."  
"Why is your thing sticking up?"  
"MAES!" There was a gasp of horror from the open door. Instinctively, Roy spun around. It was Izumi Curtis. "Maes, we don't just barge in—we knock first! Remember on the train—when you opened the door on the man in the potty?"  
"Yah!" Maes shouted gleefully. "He farted. He pointed at the President's crotch. "He's sticking up, Nana! Why is he sticking up?"  
Bend, Roy ordered his knees, quickly snatching a pillow off the bed to hide himself. "I have to go to the bathroom, Maes. Little boys-all boys-are like that when they have to take a-hmmm-when they have to urin—ah—when they have to pee when they wake up. Yours does too. So does your daddy's Roy tried not to thing of Ed's morning erection poking him in the belly, demanding attention,—and Poppa Sig. It's perfectly normal."  
"What's nor—norble?."  
"He means it's okay for it to stick up in the morning when a boy needs to pee. And Uncle Roy is right, so let's not go on about it, son." Sig smothered a grin.  
So did Izumi. So THIS is what all the gossip was about? That…little….thing? The only phallus she was personally acquainted bore a close resemblance in length and girth of the salamis that graced the shop window on Meat Day. And of course she'd seen the Elric brothers in various stages of undress when they were children. She'd heard the rumors about the legendary prowess of Roy Mustang in his younger days, before he returned to Ishbal after regaining his sight. If you're going fishing you need a sizeable lure…but I suppose Ed appreciates that he's not as big as….oh, what am I THINKING? "Hello Roy! It's so good to see you again!"  
"Izumi….Sig….hello…" It was a welcome as weak as watered down hooch sold in the Officer's Club in East City. "I….Ed didn't tell me you were coming."  
"Ed didn't know," Izumi smiled broadly. "We were coming up to see the boy's off so that the kids could see the Xerxes go up, but there was some mix-up with the train schedule so…here we are!"  
"Ah. Indeed. I'm ….sorry that you missed Ed and Al." This was unbelievable. Ed had told him, over and over, that as a grandmother Izumi was devotion personified. "But as an alchemy teacher, she's fuckin' terrifying. Swear, she almost killed me and Al when she found out the truth about what we'd done and that I'd joined the military. There's nobody in the world I'd trust more to raise my kids….but if Maes or Nina start lookin' to be trained someday I'm gonna send 'em to May Chang. At least I know they won't be runnin' around with bloody noses and bandages half the time." And now he was kneeling naked at her feet fighting the urge to yell for Sebastian to throw everybody out of the bedroom, lock the door, take a stiff belt of scotch and pretend none of this ever happened.  
Instead, he gestured for his dressing gown. "If you'd be so kind…" Sig tossed it to him and he quickly covered himself. Then he offered his hand to his lover's son. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Maes."  
The little boy stepped back and wrinkled up his nose. "You touched your winkie. Go wash hands! That's what Mommy says!"  
Roy gritted his teeth. "Thank you for reminding me, Maes. In fact, Uncle Roy is going to go take a shower—"  
"-you said you gotta pee Maes corrected  
"-yes, I will go to the bathroom," Roy's face was aching from holding that fake smile, "and then I will shower and get dressed." He glanced at Izumi, eyes mutely begging for assistance. "If you'll pull that bell Sebastian will be right up. Have you had breakfast?"  
"No, we just came off the morning train and our luggage should be following us. Pinako should be arriving on the 6:20 from East City."  
"She's coming too?" That had a slightly hysterical edge to it. Roy cleared his throat. "So…we're having a family reunion….without Ed and Al. I….wish I had known. We could have….prepared…"  
"Nonsense! We're family! Don't put yourself out at all, Roy! We'll take Ed and Al's rooms-Ed said you have a nursery?"  
"Y-yes. At the end of the hall."  
"Wonderful! Honey, let's go get the kids cleaned up and give Roy a chance to take his shower. See you at the breakfast table!" She waved cheerily and ushered her brood out the door.  
Maes stuck his head around the door and pointed his finger in the general direction of Roy's privates. "Wash your hands! Mommy says! You touched your winkie!"  
"I swear it, Maes." He ground his teeth until his jaw popped and slammed the bathroom door behind him, locking it tight. I swear on your father's grave, kid…there is NO way Ed wasn't in on this….  
###  
Truth was, there wasn't much to do once the campsite chores were done. "Might as well relax, Brother," Al advised him. "Things will get very busy once we land at Briggs. And it's not like you don't have enough to read."  
Ed glanced up over his cup of coffee. "Yeah, well, I still think we could have carried more books—"  
"Ed, taking the whole Central Library wouldn't have been practical!" Alphonse grinned, snatching a thick volume from Ed's reading stash. It was a lexicon on the Drachman terms used in physics and chemistry. "Say, you want me to quiz you on your language skills? It'll help a lot."  
Ed waved him off. "No thanks. I'm gonna finish Roy's letter." Rolling over on his camp cot, he adjusted the reading lamp and drew out the thick envelope he had stuck under his pillow for safety's sake. "Now, where was—oh yeah…."

…I'd be lying to say that the tension wasn't getting under my skin, and one afternoon it snapped over something so stupid as a slice of spinach quiche.  
You know what a young man's appetite is like. Trust me, after a day of brutal training we'd have eaten paint chips dipped in road tar and been grateful for every mouthful. I have never been so hungry in my life, but true to my nature I tried to restrain myself. I was obsessed with self- discipline. I had to be the Perfect Soldier. I refused to load my tray to overflowing and gorge like a condemned man at his last meal. So for lunch I limited myself to a bowl of beef stew, a cup of mushroom soup, two rolls and water. That seemed more than adequate calories for an afternoon in the classroom and a study period in the library. Then I noticed that somebody had spinach quiche on their tray. My stomach growled in appreciation, reminding me I was still a growing young man and I was hardly at risk of getting overweight.  
I knew it wouldn't be as good as the ones I'd eaten at Aunt Chris'. She'd gotten hers fresh from the bakery up the block from her establishment—the owner was a frequent client and a portion of his monthly 'entertainment fees' were paid in trade. The spinach quiches were the best—savory and seasoned with lots of fresh herbs and grated cheese mixed in with the greens. It was a favorite light supper on warm summer evenings. It was a taste of home—I wanted it.  
And somebody beat me to that last slice.   
Don't think I'd noticed him before. Hell, I was so obsessed with my lessons, of mastering every task and following every bloody rule and reg to the highest military standard I didn't notice much of anything until I saw those upper classmen knock down Arber, the Ishballan guy. That had put me out of sorts all morning. So when I reached for that last remaining slice of quiche and this smug, green-eyed son of a bitch literally snatched it out of my hand and stuck it on his tray I was furious. Especially after he flipped me that arrogant grin. "Spinach quiche—it's my favorite." Then the bastard walked away without so much as an apology.  
Now, if he'd said something about wanting some too I'd have told him to get a plate and we'd have split it. But he was being an arrogant ass and I had been stressed for a long, long time, not even aware that it was creeping up on me. He smirked at me, snatched the plate right out of my hand and walked away and if I'd had a free hand I would have decked him.  
I tossed my tray down on the lunch table so hard I was lucky it didn't slosh all over my tablemates. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Mustang?" one of my classmates grumbled at me. "Did somebody attempt to give you a demerit?" The whole table burst into laughter. Among our entire platoon I was the only plebe who had never been cited, never received a demerit, never even heard the dreaded command, 'drop and give me twenty!' from our drill instructor.  
I leveled them all with an angry look and tore at my bread, wishing it was that bastard's head I was tearing from his body. Surprised? You know I have a temper. You saw it the day we fought Envy. By and large, you have to admit I keep it under control. But I had tried to be too perfect for too long around other men who frankly didn't give a damn, not even for their brothers in arms. Something had to give. And, to be fair, I have to admit that it was good to be able to work myself up into some sort of self-righteous anger—because it gave me a release, if that makes sense.  
I heard him laughing at the table behind me and saw him in the midst of those same upper classmen that had bullied Arber Proof positive he was an asshole and he needed to be taken down several pegs. I decided I was just the man for the job.  
Think about how much you detested me—no, actually I think 'hate' is not to strong a word. I barged into Pinako's house, grabbed you out of your wheelchair by your shirt collar and screamed in your face. You were hiding in your guilt, catatonic and numb and I chased you out of your self pity. Hating me and wanting to get even and show me up became one of your reasons to fight to get back on your feet and master your prosthetics. Hate is a great motivator. Not a good one or a healthy one, but it can be effective. So is revenge. If I am to be truly honest with you, Ed, I have to admit that revenge has driven me, one way or another, the whole of my adult life. Revenge against Bradley for making me kill innocent people and for tearing my nation to pieces. Revenge against Envy for murdering Maes. It is only since the Promised Day that I have made peace with myself and have worked hard to turn away from that kind of insanity. You wouldn't have believed it at the time, but I was listening to you and Scar. But I was younger then—young and stupid with a chip on my shoulder and some idiot had crossed me on a bad day. Now I had something to focus on, to obsess about.   
I was going to find more about this son of a bitch I had never really noticed before—and I was going to make an ass of him, one way or another.  
This time I paid attention when the roll was called in class.   
"Maes Hughes!"  
"Present, Sir!"  
I'd heard the name called out before but never associated it with the face. From the back of the classroom I burned holes in his back with my eyes. From my comrades at lunch I learned that he was from Central, son of a prominent military lawyer and a stay-at-home housewife. He had a sister a few years older and no other siblings. He was in OCS to improve his chances of pursuing a career in security and investigations. "In other words," my classmate concluded, "he's a snoop. Better keep that pointy nose of his out of my business or he's gonna get it busted."  
I gave my instructor my strict attention, but I also paid close attention to this Hughes character. He was bright—not as bright as I was, but notches above the average for our class. I caught him nodding and I smiled to myself. He's lazy, I decided. Fine. That gave me a game plan. I would simply push myself a little harder, a little further, and leave Mr. Hughes in the dust…

 

Ed folded up the letter and stuffed it back in the envelope, shoving it back under the pillow. "God, he's such an ass!"  
"Who?"  
"Roy. I've been reading that letter—y'know, the one about Hughes? And he's going on and on about how Hughes got him all pissed off when they met. How Hughes was all smug and arrogant and how he just got on Roy's tit and Roy just had to knock him off his high horse. Ha! Sounds like for the first time in his life Roy got a taste of his own damn medicine and it tasted like shit!" This tickled Ed and he spent the remainder of the afternoon chuckling to himself, shaking his head and muttering 'that asshole!'  
"Y'know…what I don't get," Ed blurted out during dinner, is if Hughes got under Roy's skin and pissed him off so bad, how the hell did they ever end up as lovers?"  
Al glanced at Doctor Chen. Doctor Chen glanced back. Then Al whopped and hooted with hysterical laughter and even Chen-san was unable to resist a dignified chortle or two over this teacup.  
Ed glared daggers at the pair of them. "What? What, goddamn it!"  
Alphonse couldn't even look at his brother. He was gasping for breath and every time he thought he was going to be all right it would start up again. He risked a sip of coffee and was fine-until Ed started growling under his breath about 'fuckin' Mustang', and the warm brew shot right out of his nostrils.  
Ed slammed his fists onto the table in disgust. "ALL RIGHT, ALPHONSE! WHAT'S SO GODDAMN FUNNY?""  
"BaaaaHAAAAAHAAHHHAAAA!" Alphonse picked up his napkin, waved like a flag of surrender and high-tailed it out of the tent before Ed could dive across the camp table and whip his ass….


	12. Bullet-Proof Boxers and Roy's Little Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Ed and Alphonse soar by airship to Brigg’s—hopefully without getting shot by Olivier Armstrong, a hung-over, frustrated Fuhrer faces the cold gray sober dawn of step-fatherhood

Bullet-Proof Boxers and Roy's Little Boy

THE PRESIDENTIAL BEDROOM, CENTRAL  
The President Erect was not saluting the Fuhrer. In fact, he had gone hiding in the bushes and if it were humanly possible he would have inverted himself and Roy Mustang would have found himself glaring down at two testicles and a second navel.  
Leaning against the slick tiles of the shower, he groped and squeezed and yanked to no avail. He growled in frustration, then smacked the shower wall in frustration. "It's not his fault." He was not going to sink so low as to get pissed off at an innocent little boy for interrupting his fantasy.  
"Your THING is sticking up."  
"It's not….his….fault," he hissed between clenched teeth as the razor bit his jaw, close to his right ear. He swore sharply, dabbing at the thin line of blood with a swatch of toilet paper.  
"It is, Nana! Uncle Roy, WHY is your THING sticking up?"  
"Goddamnit….it's…not…his fault!" A button burst off his collar and pinged against the mirror. Roy lost five more jerking the shirt off, hurling it against his reflection.  
"You touched your winkie. Go wash hands! Mama says!"

Great. Bring Winry into this. He'd broken a shoelace, lost a cufflink under the bed, caught his shirttail in his zipper. And The President Erect, he suspected, had been traumatized for good and would never rear its mushroom head again, not even with the most ardent coaxing by the man Roy chose to share him with-the man who'd fathered that little…that little…  
Roy closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath. "Just a kid being a kid. That's all. And he's Ed's. So…."  
So he would put up. He would shut up. He would get his ire under control, go downstairs and learn to love the little monster…

NORTHERN TERRITORY, LOCATION UNKNOWN  
"We've got a good wind behind us. I think we'll make Fort Briggs by mid afternoon."  
"Right. Just don't forget to pull on your bullet-proof boxers. You know how the General is. 'Blam! Blam! Hello—welcome to Briggs!' That's how you know they like you in those parts—they offer you some bandages to plug up the bullet holes when you come to visit." Ed shook his head, grinning ruefully. The Briggs policy of shoot first—shoot again—poke 'em a few times with a sword and then ask questions was a bone of contention still between Olivier and Roy, who secretly nursed fears that one day the ice-hearted Amazon would attempt to secede from the nation and form her own monarchy in the mountains. Appointing her as ambassador to Drachma had been a dangerous gamble that thankfully paid off. Roy had solved the problem between them by locking both of them in his office one night, hauling out a dozen bottles of hideously expensive vodka and getting them stinking drunk together. Olivier had drunk Roy under the table on one frosty night on northern maneuvers—a night both of them were to regret—and she had the alcoholic tolerance of an entire platoon of OCS plebes. It beggared his personal expense account but in the end Tsar Dimitri and Olivier Armstrong were slapping each other on the back, pounding their boots on the floor and roaring out some of the filthiest barroom ditties Roy had ever heard. Before they sobered up, Roy got them to sign the peace accord and once the haze of the hangovers had cleared neither one of them would own up to their drunken debauchery—or admit that Roy had tricked them. Dimitri and Roy had developed a friendship and while Olivier would never fully trust a Drachman further than she could comfortably fling a piano, she no longer pointed her long range artillery in the direction of Dimitri's troops.  
No-she'd have them pointed at the skies. "Protecting mutual airspace at the border," she explained, even though there was not currently any airship with the speed and size of the Xerxes in the Known World.  
"Bullet proof boxers?" Alphonse laughed. "General Armstrong always aims for the head, Brother!" He held up a large white handkerchief tied to a stick. "See? Truce flags. If she doesn't get our wireless signal we'll wave these and shout."  
Ed regarded the flag with a jaundiced eye. "Well…and if that fails, it doubles as a tourniquet…"

GODZ STUDIO, RUSH VALLEY  
"Oooooooooooooohhh!"  
If Garfiel had been a real woman, his lace trimmed panties would have been soaked. Instead, 'the little boy bits' under his skirt had risen politely to meet his customer—a tall young man with lots of curly brown hair and lively eyes. "Excuse me—is this where Winry Rockbell works?" The voice had a slight Eastern accent, and there was something about the way he carried his broad shoulders that made Garfiel want to bake him muffins and have his babies.  
Tearing his eyes away from the tanned features, Garfiel did a quick recon on the young man's attire. White coat. Name embroidered on the pocket. That means— "Why, good afternoon, Doctor…?"  
"-Renback. Pitt Renback. My card, sir." The business card was handed over, accompanied by a cheery smile. Dr. Pitt Renback, M.D. Board Certified Physician, Amestrian Medical Association. Serving the East-Central Region. Fellow of the Hohenheim Institute School of Medicine.  
Garfiel's well manicured eyebrows lifted a fraction in surprise. "You're with the Institute? My, my. That is impressive!"  
"I'm also from Resembool," the young physician confided. "I've known Winry since we were playing in the sandbox in Resembool with the Elric brothers. I….uh…well….I was passing through Rush Valley-on business, you know-and…er..I..thought…y'know, if she's not busy…I might…?"  
"My dear Dr. Renback-"  
"—oh, please, just call me Pitt—"  
"—if we waited for Winry not to be busy you'd never see her at all-and we don't want that to happen! She's gone into town for a screw she needs—ooopsie! That sounded rude, didn't it?" The master craftsman giggled at his own joke. "An A-21 titanium alloy replacement screw for an elbow joint, I mean! Anyway, she'll be back and she's be famished for a nice luncheon, so sit down, make yourself at home and in a little bit the three of us can have a nosh-oh, I haven't had time to cook, and Paninya is off running errands, but if you'll let me step around the corner I'll get some lovely ham and cheddar quiche and a bit of fresh fruit salad to go-Winry likes something light and cool in the heat of the day."  
The young man lifted his hand in anxious protest. "Please, don't put yourself out, Mr. Garfiel-"  
Polished fingers waggled playfully in Pitt's direction. "Ohhh, hush! Winry will be delighted to see you and it's so good for her to see old friends! I'll just bring out a nice pitcher of iced tea so we can cool off while we wait."  
In a flurry of ruffles and a cloud of perfume Garfiel ducked to the kitchenette in the back of the automail shop, biting his rouged lips to keep from smiling too broadly. "Lovely….just lovely….nothing like seeing old friends," he murmured to himself. "Even better," he added archly, "if they aren't bloody alchemists…."

CENTRAL CITY  
"Gracia? Are you feeling better today?" Donnel Samuelson poked his head into Studio B where the hostess of the afternoon crafts segment was flipping through a sheaf of handwritten notes. There was a deep crease in the middle of her pretty forehead and she looked as if she could do with a few hours of good sleep. "I….you know, I did what I could to keep it out of the news."  
To his surprise, she threw him an angry glance that made him feel oddly intimidated. "Yes…I'm sure you did, Donnel. And I appreciate the little impromptu Handy Home segment Elinor did about removing vomit stains."  
Donnel opened his mouth to protest but she waved him irritably away. "I don't want to hear about it. Ever. Now let me be. I've got to get my notes organized."

She chewed pensively on her lower lip as she thumbed through the recipes for Strawberry Week. There would be a fête on the Grand Mall this weekend with stalls of scrumptious strawberry with prizes to be judged by Radio Capital and Central Times. There would be bubbly summerwine, rosy and sweet, and tangy berry vinaigrette poured over chilled salads, and of course mountains of shortcake and fresh churned ice cream. Nearly every year Ed and Al joined them for the Strawberry Festival, and for the past several years Gracia would say to Edward, "why don't you bring Winry up for the weekend? Don't you know she'd have such a wonderful time with us." But Ed would look awkward and mumble some excuse about too much work to do, or not wanting to travel with young children, or something equally as lame. Then he would scoop up Elycia onto his mismatched shoulders and race down to the band shell where his fiend and former bodyguard Denny Brosh played trumpet in his own band of military officers who played in the local pubs, called Sergeant Denny's Monthly Darts Club Band. Then Ed would sprawl in the cool grass with his nose in a book as Elycia twirled to the lively marches and stuffed both herself and Ed with forkfuls of shortcake.  
Gracia and Maes, of course, had taken her when they were still a family—before Maes had sacrificed himself for-  
-for what? Yes, she knew some of the story. That Maes had discovered some military plot that nearly tore the country apart. She remembered tumbling to the floor, crying out for her daughter as the world seemed to spin around her and the breath was drawn from her body. For a moment—for a moment—she saw him. And he was shaking his head sadly and gesturing for her to stop—to turn around and go back to her body…as if she could. No, no! Honey, you can't—not yet! Elycia, sweetie, you shouldn't be here-please…not so soon…ROY! ROY! You've got to stop them! Close the Gate—close the Gate! Oh, my god-  
-and she was back in her parlor on her hands and knees, crawling to her daughter's side and weeping with relief when Elycia blinked and sneezed the way she always did after her afternoon nap.  
"You called for Roy." She spoke aloud in the silent studio. "I died. Your daughter died…and you were screaming for Roy to save us."  
And he did, she reminded herself silently. Roy and Edward and Alphonse and Mrs. Curtis and Mr. Hohenheim. They saved us all.  
"Only," she shook her head sadly, "they couldn't save you, Maes…."

THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE AT ROSE HILL, CENTRAL CITY  
Roy was late for breakfast. That nice butler had politely set up the Curtis family in the family dining room and taken their orders. A booster seat was set up for Maes and a folding travel high chair for Nina. Sebastian smiled and leaned down to the little boy. "And what would you like for breakfast, young man?"  
"Worms an' BOOGERS!" Maes whooped back. He was having a ball. Rose hill was full of shiny things that probably made a lot of noise if you pushed them off the table and a biiiiig long staircase with a polished banister he was certain would be great fun to slide down. There were all sorts of good smells in the air—familiar aromas of bacon and breakfast and flowers from the garden. The old wooden floor made the most wonderful creak-creakings when he stomped on the floorboards.  
And he saw Uncle Roy playing with his winkie. That was the funniest thing he'd seen in his entire brief life. He didn't know why, exactly, you weren't supposed to play with it but when he learned to pee in the chamber pot Granny had told him, "shake it more than twice and you're playing with it. Now stop fooling around and pull up your britches!" And Uncle Roy had looked like he'd been caught snitching cookies. His chubby face spread into a wide grin and he began beating time on the top of the table. "Worms and boogers! Worms and boogers!"  
"Booogahhhhhsss!" Nina echoed joyfully. Izumi buried her face in her hands.  
"We're fresh out of worms—the birds ate every last one in the garden, I expect," Sebastian continued calmly. "But Chef Ramsay make pancakes with faces on them. And little sausages shaped like octopuses."  
"Ockopussies?" Maes looked puzzled. "What's ockopussies?"  
"An octopus lives under the sea. Deep in the ocean off the coast of Xing. They have eight arms and are like big…ah…slimy…slugs. They are very, very big and ugly and scary." Black eyes flashed in merriment. "Almost as interesting as…ah…boogers."  
"I wanna eat a OCKOPUSSY!"  
"I'll see what we can do."  
Roy passed Sebastian on the way to the dining room. "They're…finished in there?" he asked, none too hopefully.  
"No, Your Excellency," Sebastian beamed. "Everybody has ordered but we were waiting for you to plate up."  
"Oh." Damn. "Right."  
"You're coffee is waiting for you, sir. I've taken the liberty to prepare a light breakfast, taking into consideration His Excellency's…ah….dare I say it….?"  
"I'm hung over as fuck-all and my mouth tastes like the bottom of a cat box. Thank you, Sebastian. Now get them fed and….damn it…I guess settle them into the nursery and whatnot."  
"Yes, sir."  
He took a deep breath, paying no heed to the invisible score of demons that were plucking away somewhere behind his eyeballs with red hot pliers, and burst into the room, forcing a wide, all-conquering Mustang Smile® across his pale face.  
"GOOD MORNING, EVERYBODY!"  
He didn't mean it to sound that loud. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe the goblins inside his brain—the ones with the tiny golden pickaxes that were hammering away like Youswell miners—were making such a racket he couldn't hear himself speak.  
And the Little Monster flashed him the most amazing smile. "Unka Roy? You gonna eat boogers and okapussies w't me?"  
"I sure am….son."  
"YAY!"  
Roy straightened himself. He smiled at Izumi and Sig before kneeling beside Nina's high chair. Startling green eyes blinked to meet his own. Dimples emerged from soft, rosy cheeks. "Hello, Nina," Roy whispered in his most charming voice. "I am so glad to meet you. Do you know who I am?"  
Every night Izumi and Sig had told them the same bedtime story—of how Nina and Maes lived in the little house down the lane in Dublith with Nana and Poppa and Uncle Mason—and there were lots and lots of people who loved Nina and Maes. There was Mommy in Rush Valley—here they were shown a picture of a pretty blonde woman in a workshop, surrounded by smiling children with automail. There was Daddy, who traveled to all sorts of wonderful places—now the snapshot of the bespectacled scholar grinning and waving from the window of a train, his long golden hair whipping in the wind. Uncle Alphonse, who flew great airships, handsome in his scarf and goggles.  
And then there was Uncle Roy—brave in his blue uniform, elegantly perched upon the back of his beautiful mare Cirrocco, smiling. Mommy helps people walk in Rush Valley, they were told, and Daddy and Uncle Roy work together in Central.  
Nina had seen pictures of Ed on the train, Roy in the saddle, but there were other images that Nana and Poppa had shown her, images that Mommy always left out when she told them the story when she came for visits.  
Daddy and Uncle Roy throwing snowballs at each other. Daddy and Uncle Roy in beautiful clothing in a prince's castle in Aerugo. Daddy and Uncle Roy in the rose garden at Rose Hill.  
And Daddy and Uncle Roy kissing under the cherry trees. Daddy and Uncle Roy dancing together, with Uncle Al and little princess Elena clapping close by. Daddy and Uncle Roy sitting by the fire, reading together side by side belly down on a fur rug.  
Daddy and Uncle Roy loved each other as much as Nana and Poppa, they were told by their grandmother Izumi, "…and they love Nina and Maes even more…"  
Roy winked at Nina. She giggled. She flung out her arms and wrapped them around the Fuhrer President's head. "You my Wroy!"  
Roy Mustang never noticed the chair Sig slid behind him, or how the warm, wriggling little girl had been transferred from the high chair to his arms, or how the little boy with the devilish eyes clambered up onto his lap. Roy looked down at the Little Monster and recognized the molten gold eyes and the unkempt forelocks of golden hair. In one wrenching moment, it occurred to him that if anything ever happened to Edward—if his glider crashed….if he were shot down or assassinated or lost his life to some misadventure on the road…he would never really be lost to him, the way Maes was.  
Ed was here, in his children. Here, in the adorable brown haired girl who smeared wet kisses on his cheek and snuggled contentedly against his chest. Here in this wild little man with the uncontrollable curiosity who gleefully babbled on about farts and boogers and winkies while managing to elbow a priceless figurine of rare Xingese porcelain off the sideboard, smashing it to dust while scaling his way up Roy's knee.  
Edward was hundreds of miles away—someday might be on the other side of the globe-but at the same time Ed was right here in his arms. Ed was here, and then the realization struck him harder than the hangover imps that provoked the vicious headache he'd now forgotten:  
Ed was here in Nina and Maes.  
That meant that Maes was alive too.  
He swallowed hard and was grateful the children didn't hear the break in his voice. "Your…big sister…Elycia….is going to be so glad to meet you."  
TO BE CONTINUED….


	13. SEX ED 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Elric Brothers have a 'man to man' talk about 'preferences' and Izumi and Sig head for the hill, leaving Roy with two little monsters to care for ..  
> "Welcome to the joys of fatherhood, you S.O.B.!"

Sex Ed 101

THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, CENTRAL  
"Your fresh uniform, Excellency. And your aspirins."  
"How many?"  
"Three, sir" There was a glass of iced water beside the small saucer that held the painkillers. Roy glared at the saucer then scowled at the butler that offered it with a smile so calm and soothing he wanted to grab hold of the man's black silk tie and hang the smirking bastard from the coat rack until his face turned blue.  
"If you think three measly aspirins and…water…are going to ease this headache, Sebastian-"  
"—Per the orders of Doctor Knox. His precise orders were…ah…unrepeatable in polite company, other than to enforce that His Excellency was not to take the prescribed dosage with anything other than water—and not to be chased later with anything alcoholic. He did add, that 'the hair of the dog' would bite you on the posterior and he congratulated you on your hangover."  
Roy scrubbed furiously at his throbbing temples. "Any other words of wisdom from Surgeon General Knox?"  
Sebastian artfully suppressed an outburst of unseemly laughter that could have resulted in a set of incinerated coattails. "He added 'welcome to the joys of fatherhood, you son of a bitch", sir."  
It had been a warm family moment. Roy was unaccustomed to warm family moments. It felt good. Awkward, but good. Edward's children had accepted him, thanks to the careful preparation for this day by Sig and Izumi. Daddy and Uncle Roy live together in a big house in the big city of Central, and they love Maes and Nina very, very much. They'd see his pictures, including photos of him embracing and kissing their father. He had written notes to them, sent them gifts and chatted to them on the phone. Every Thursday evening the nation tuned to the President's Address, broadcast live over Radio Capital, Radio Central and the fledgling new competitor ABC—The Amestrian Broadcasting Network. The face of Roy Mustang was in the daily papers and his voice crackled through the tinny speakers of radios all over the nation.  
They knew who he was. They had been told he loved them and they believed him.  
Nina grabbed him in a headlock and a shriek of joy. Maes swarmed all over him, shoved and wiggled his way into Roy's lap and Izumi had placed his little sister into the President's arms. Roy was stunned and surprised at how good it felt. Maes' astonishing eyes reminded him so much of his father's and Roy realized with a jolt that, like Edward, he could care for Hughes by caring about Elycia. He would open up to that child with her father's green, green eyes. He would include her in his life and then maybe, at long last, the pain of losing Hughes would go away. Gracia wouldn't mind, surely. She'd sourly accused him of not giving a damn about the child. He would prove her wrong. It would be like bringing an older sister into their lives. It would be perfect.  
And then Nina promptly threw up her milk and oatmeal all over Roy's uniform.

Roy was no stranger to blood. On the battlefield his comrades were blasted to piles of raw meat beside him, spattering his uniform with bits of brain and hair flesh. He knew the stink of rotting corpses and had learned not to gag when a disemboweled soldier fouled the air with the contents of his intestines.  
Spit up, on the other hand, was something else altogether. Worse, when Maes saw the look on Roy's face he laughed so hard he peed himself, drenching Roy's pants leg and sending warm rivulets of urine dripping into his dress shoes.  
Izumi patted him on the shoulder. "Roy, thanks so much for breakfast! Sig and I have to get down to the station. Our train leaves in an hour. Looks like you've got everything well in hand." She handed him a note with a telephone number scribbled on it. "This is where the Meat Cutter's conference is being held in New Optain. Call us if you need us." She and Sig both kissed the children. "Best not to have a long, fussy goodbye," she added softly. Oh," she brightened, "a bit of baking soda will get those stains right out of your jacket. Give our love to Ed and Alphonse. Bye!"  
And they were gone.

The little monsters were getting settled in down the hall by Colonel Hawkeye. When he cast her a terrified look, silently pleading with her to take them off his hands, she nodded. Then she reminded him, "Don't forget my leave starts tomorrow."  
He was reeking of sour milk, vomit and pee. He was hung over and overwhelmed and he had a whole chamber full of Parliament members wondering where the hell he was.  
In the bathroom he ripped of the second shirt of the morning and flung it into the hamper. As he peeled off his wet trousers, he considered what that expert in fatherhood, Hughes, would have said to him at this moment.  
"Hold still, Roy—I gotta get a picture of this!" the grinning apparition would have told him  
To which an exhausted Fuhrer Mustang would have replied, "Fuck you."

 

THE TRANS-AMESTRIS UNDERGROUND TUBEWAY  
Pio Ignacio Bacalla, envoy to the royal court of Claudio of Aerugo—formerly the Prince's butler and body servant who scrubbed the Royal Back, emptied the Royal Bedpans and all but wiped the Royal Anus, was gripping the edge of the speeding side car so tightly flecks of olive-drab paint were curling under his fingernails. At least on the surface those Amestrian bastards had speed limits. Down here in the Tubes, the two-way traffic roared through at breakneck speeds.  
"Well, what the fuck did you expect?" Ruby shouted about the rumble of the engine. "Only couriers, medics and other essential personnel have access to the roads down here. One day Mustang hopes to get an underground railway built down here over the stream—or find a way to use water transports. Pretty damned clever." She glanced over at him, looking otherworldly and menacing in her heavy brass goggles. "Fastest way to get your sorry ass to Fort Briggs. The Big Boss says you're going on to Drachma aboard the Xerxes, so you better hope to hell you get there after the Elric brothers."  
"Why is that?"  
"Because they don't know you're coming, and without the Elrics to vouch for you, you're likely to get a cold cell, a hot interrogation and if you're lucky General Armstrong will only dangle your balls over the edge of the bear pit during feeding time."  
"B-bear pit?"  
"Sparring partners. Ol' Buccaneer's idea, rest his soul. Crazy motherfucker, but then they're all like that up North. Better remember that if you wanna keep any skin on your dick."  
Steering the motorcycle to the side lane, she slowed down, pulled over, and switched off the engine. She ran her hand along the smooth walls with appreciation of it the alchemic skill it took to shape it. The mile markers bore the image of a beefy, well- muscled torso, topped by a shaven head and mustachios so thick you could strain soup through them. She slapped the mile marker on the belly. It echoed forever. "See this git? Recognize the face?"  
"I recognize the sparkles." They had been carved out by hand and set with small lights that twinkled in the low light of the seemingly endless corridor they raced through. "That's Armstrong, right?"  
"Yeah. Think he's big and strong, yeah?"  
"Yes, I do."  
"Think he could tie your dick in a knot, reach down your throat and wrap your intestines around your neck?"  
Bacalla swallowed nervously and nodded.  
"Lemme tell you something about Fort Briggs and General Armstrong." A toothy grin gleamed in the shadows. "Compared to Her Ladyship," she confided, "Little Alex is a pussy."

 

SOMEWHERE SOUTH OF BRIGG'S MOUNTAIN  
In his dreams Edward Elric fell off the edge of the earth.  
He'd gotten into his glider, waved cockily at the gathered crowd. A slow pull in the propeller from his brother, who kept warning him, "Don't do this, Ed! You don't know where the sky ends!"  
"The sky never ends," Edward told him cheerily, tugging down his goggles and pulling back on the joystick, slow and easy.  
He had been wrong.  
The world was flat and he had run out of sky and Truth was there to meet him as he fell.  
Welcome back, Edward Elric.  
It stood up on the leg he'd left behind—partly because Winry would cry and pout if she had nothing to work on and he hadn't sorted out his feelings about that yet, but mostly because of something Hohenheim had said: "You burned down the house to hide the evidence of your sin, just the way a small child wets the bed and then tries to hide the sheets." He was guilty and he would pay for the lives he had taken, the people he'd made to suffer—for ever tear shed over him and for the two bewildered children he would leave behind when the Gate swallowed him this one last time.  
You can only run so far before you fall off the edge, Truth gloated. You can only fly so far before you run out of sky.  
And Roy was standing there, his hand outstretched, his face in ruins. Two eyeballs, filmed with blood, rested on his palm. "I'll pay the price," he told the phantom that guarded the Gate. "I'll give anything—just bring him home safe to his children and Alphonse." Roy turned his face to meet Edward's. There were flames in the empty sockets where his eyes had been, and Edward grabbed his lover tightly. "Don't do this…you can't—"  
"I love you. I can see through your eyes."  
"BROTHER! Wake up!" A hand was shaking him roughly. "You're screaming again. Sit up. Here." A tin mug of hot coffee was pressed into his hand. He swallowed deeply. As the coffee went down, Alphonse briskly rubbed his brother's shoulders to reorient him to the waking world. "You haven't had a dream like that in a long time, Ed."  
The brew was hot enough to scald. Ed couldn't care less. He gulped it down gratefully, not even pausing to blow on it to cool it down. "Not since I left the hospital."  
He held out his cup and Al refilled it, black and bitter. "Not since—"  
"Not since Roy," Alphonse finished. He poured himself a cup, dropped in a few cubes of sugar and a splash of tinned milk. He touched his mug to his brother's. "He's made you happy, Ed. That's worth everything."  
Ed glanced over at the folded letter beside his bedroll. "Yeah." He grinned a little. "Yeah, it is. What time is it? We got anything to eat?"  
Al glanced at his watch by the lantern light. "Too early, but I've got some cookies if you want."  
"Gimme." The blue tin had gold kitty paw prints all over it. "Little something from your bakery girls, Al?"  
The younger Elric had the good grace to blush clear up to his hairline. "Well…they wanted to give me something to…eat…while I was on the way. I love their cookies."  
"Yeah, I just bet you do," Ed smirked, picking through the assortment until he located a Ginger Man and bit its head off. Al laughed, snagging a red jelly Strawberry Fighetta. "Those things look obscene, y'know. As if the name wasn't obvious."  
"Really?"  
Ed rolled his eyes. "Al, don't you have a fuckin' clue what fighetta means? It's Aerugoan slang for…."  
"For what?"  
Ed snorted. "Something you like to…eat…at the bakery. In the back room."  
Al studied the pastry. He grinned. He passed the tin to his brother. "Here, Ed—I'm sure there's a Cream Roll in here if you'd rather eat that. "  
"Long as it stays out of your Fighettas."  
"Did you ever…you know…?"  
Ed studied the cookie, the red jelly oozing out of the pastry. "No." He reached for a Cream Roll. "And now that the significance is no longer a mystery, I'll never eat one again."  
"Poor Winry." It slipped out before Al could stop himself.  
"Shut up." Ed gave him a sharp look. Then he held up a Cream Roll. "I bet you never tried one of these." He slurped out the creamy filling and smirked at his sibling. "Don't know what you've been missing."  
"That's what Ling says," Al nodded. He chose a Cream Roll and a Fighetta and laid them side by side on the palm of his hand, studying them both intently.  
Edward nearly choked on his cookie. After all, Ling had been the first man to make any serious overtures of interest to him that were more than some stranger on the road trying to grope a pretty boy before said pretty boy bashed his face in with a fistful of metal and wires. "He tried to fuck you too?" In the stunned silence that followed Ed thought about how that had sounded. "I mean…he didn't…it was Greed getting…y'know…grabby. And I was all worked up over the mission and I didn't know, y'know, who the hell was at the wheel, Ling or Greed, so I …so nothing happened."  
"I see."  
"Right.' Ed polished off his Cream Roll and wolfed down another Ginger Man, crotch first. He licked the spicy crumbs off his fingers. "But he didn't…come on to your or nothing….did he?"  
Al turned his eyes to the heavens and whistled innocently. Ed was aghast. "AL! My fuckin' god—tell me you didn't do it with Ling. Shit, don't give me a heart attack!"  
His brother looked so innocent and coy that Ed's jaw dropped about a foot in horror. "The Emperor told me that it is a tradition for the rulers of Xing to be Adepts of Pleasure—both giving and receiving. And that there should be no boundaries unexplored."  
"ALPHONSE! Sweet fuckin' Ishballah on ice skates! You…did not…fuck Ling Yao….did you?"  
Al just grinned.  
Ed turned pale in the lantern light. "You mean…he topped you? Ohhh hell…I think I'm gonna be sick! My little brother—"  
His little brother couldn't keep a straight face any longer. Al flopped back on the bedroll and howled, grabbing his sides. "You…little…bastard…!" Ed lunged, but Al was too fast, flipped his older brother and pinned him to the blankets. "Ooof! You're…heavy….gerrroffame, asswipe!"  
"Okay, Ed…for the record I am a virgin where men are concerned. Are you satisfied?"  
Ed spat out a mouthful of blanket. "No blowjobs, even?"  
"No hand jobs, blow jobs, toe jobs, rim jobs-or any other kind of jobs. And it's not because I think I'd hate it or hate guys that do. I just….I guess it's like milk. You hate it. I love it. I may tease you but I'll never make you drink it. Okay?"  
"Okay. Now, let me up."  
Ed sat up and made high drama out of shaking out his heavy mass of pale hair. He reached for his brush and began working out the tangles. "You were touching yourself in your sleep and humping the pillows." Al offered. Ed just grunted. "It woke me up," Al continued. "I don't think you came or anything, because that's when you must have gone into that nightmare and started screaming."  
"Maybe."  
"Can I ask you a question?"  
"Shoot."  
"I've had a girl…um…let's see….how can I put this?" Al considered for a moment. "Okay…in the harem the girls have these…toys. I mean, Ling can't serve all the girls at once, can he? So he makes sure they're happy. I get to play as long as I'm careful-he calls me his Imperial Taster—"  
One golden eyebrow crept up. "You're really sick, brother. Even Roy hasn't stuck his dick in as many holes as you have."  
Al shrugged as if he hadn't heard that. Anyway, Ling said that I ought to at least not die ignorant of all pleasures so one of the girls-Jiao Lan, I think it was—tied this ivory…you know—tied it on with ribbons and one girl took me in her mouth while Jiao Lan-"  
"—took the scenic route. Is that what you're trying to tell me, Al? Was it any good."  
Al scratched his head and considered. "Well….yeah. I mean, she hit all the right spots and even though it kinda burned and stretched it was—I mean, it was really something." He fell silent for a moment. "I guess what I was wondering was—you've been with a woman and you're with Roy. I mean, it's good with another person—but how is it different with Roy? It's got to be more than just the penetration."  
"Who says I'm the one always getting penetrated?"  
Al blinked. "Wow. Really? Okay….so…why Cream Rolls over….Fighettas?"  
Ed opened the black Owner's Manual. He flipped past the explicit photos of Roy naked, of the two of them writing and sweating together. He stopped at a single photograph taken with a telephoto lens by Frank Archer for the purpose of blackmailing Fuhrer Mustang. It showed two men kissing tenderly in the snow, arms curled about each other's shoulders. It was the day Ed had tried to run away from Roy—from Roy, from responsibility and from himself. And Roy didn't try to hold him back. He gave Ed a warm coat, food, money—and his heart. Open handed with no reservations. Ed challenged Roy to kiss him in the open. Roy never hesitated. From that evening on, Ed knew he could fly and explore and wander the globe-and that every road he'd take would have one destination in the end: Roy and Maes and Nina.  
What makes me choose? Ed asked himself silently?  
"Love, you idiot. Now gimme another Cream Roll."  
TO BE CONTINUED….


	14. THE ELEGANT MONSTER, MAES AND ME

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aboard the Xerxes, Edward reads on as Roy narrates the truth about his first encounter with Hughes--and the "elegant monster' who delighted in thwarting their clandestine relationship: Zolf Kimblee

THE ELEGANT MONSTER, MAES AND ME

SOMEWHERE IN THE NORTHERN TERRITORY  
They had been airborne nearly an hour, making good time and all secure, when the realization hit Ed as sharply as a ball peen hammer between the eyebrows: he'd said the word. He'd said it out loud, in front of Alphonse and it had slipped out as naturally and casually as any other fuck or shit to grace his lips. He wasn't altogether sure he was okay with that. He reckoned that it made him sound…weak, maybe? Was he whining and pining like his ex wife? Fucksake, but it would be mortifying to his ego to own up to missing that black-eyed bastard. Brother, you were humping your pillow and touching yourself in your sleep last night. Yeah. He had. He'd been dreaming about that first time, that wild night in the hospital when an innocent massage—well, not that innocent—had led to a tongue bath….which led to a blow job, which led to other oral delights and culminated in Ed ripping the steel rail off his bed with one swipe of his flailing foot. Damn. He was stiffening again just thinking about thinking about that night. Ed vacillated for a bit. Then he glanced down at his crotch. "You win." He slapped Dr. Chen on the shoulder. "Back in a few." Chen nodded. Alphonse smothered a grin and looked pointedly at the horizon.

There wasn't much privacy aboard the Xerxes. The bow and stern each had a small area shielded by removable bamboo screens and could be protected from the weather by tarps and rope. The bow contained a small bench with a hole in it that served as a toilet, although it was a longstanding aeronaut's joke that on smaller vessels one simply tied on a life line, hoisted oneself up on the rim of the basket in the direction of the prevailing winds, grabbed the sheetlines and let fly, preferably not over heavily populated areas. There was a washbasin, a jug of water, a cake of soap and a thick towel. There was also, Ed discovered, a jar of slick salve and a roll of tissues—and some 'inspirational literature' that included pictures of women with large breasts and few inhibitions.  
Taking matters firmly in hand, Ed finished so quickly it would have been embarrassing to come back out so soon. He couldn't help it. He'd been pretzled around Roy's driving body in his dreams before Truth had intruded. Never thought I'd see that motherfucker again...I mean, what the hell was that all about? "You've run out of sky, Edward Elric"? He shook his head, rinsed his hands and zipped up. He moved to the rim of the gondola and let the chilly air cool his flaming cheeks. He could smell snow and wood smoke now, and the spiciness of evergreens that grew thickly along the slopes of Mt. Briggs. Not long now. There would be a phone at Briggs. "I don't need to hear your voice." His hand slid into his jacket. "That's bullshit. I don't need it." The letter he tugged out was much folded, even after less than a handful of days. Still, Roy had ordered them to report once they arrived at Briggs. Al would be busy, settling the Xerxes in for the night and squaring everything with General Armstrong. Chen could report in, true, but…"Might as well call the asshole myself." Frowning, he ducked back down and stepped away from the shitter, dropping the canvas tarp behind him. There was a small pile of personal luggage stored on the other side. Edward dropped down onto his brother's trunk and began to read…

###  
;;;By the third year of Officer's Training Heathcliff Arber was gone. No explanation was asked for or given, and none of us were surprised. Things were heating up on the border and more and more of our training focused on combat command. 

"We're heading to the front," Maes told me one night when I came in from guard duty. He was sprawled over his bunk, hands laced behind his head. I couldn't believe he could speak so casually about it. We had been paired as roommates now that we were junior classmen and no longer plebes in the barracks. Within the year we would be entering the field with commissions, but that didn't mean we were ready to be leaders of men by any stretch of the imagination. "Hell, what are you worried about, Roy? If old man Hawkeye teaches you that flame alchemy you'll be the scariest son of a bitch on the battlefield."  
"There's always Kimblee," I shot back.  
"Who is, without question,," he saluted me with his coffee cup, "is the craziest bastard in the whole Amestrian army. Hope you two don't get stuck in the same outfit."  
"Good chance of it," I told him. If I passed the exam and joined the ranks of state alchemists—providing that Master made good on his promise and revealed the secrets of Flame Alchemy to me at last—serving alongside Zolf Kimblee was a dead certainty….with an emphasis on Dead. Maybe because I had set my sites on a career as a Dog of the Military that I had developed a canine-like sense of who I could and couldn't trust. And I couldn't trust Kimblee further than I could comfortably fling Aunt Chris' grand piano.

The future Crimson Alchemist came from an aristocratic family of alchemists, I understood. But when he sought an alchemy master to apprentice under the teacher he sought had no interest in Kimblee's lineage or family reputation. "I don't believe in the powers of precognition, boy," Berthold Hawkeye told him sharply, "but any fool can foresee that you're the kind of brute who will wind up with his hands drenched in crimson. An elegant monster, but a monster nonetheless. Now get out of my sight."  
Kimblee had been fool enough to attempt to persuade the master one more time, arriving unannounced at the manor where the alchemist lived with his young daughter. When he arrived he was taken aback to find a young boy of fourteen, nervously perched on a chair in his best black suit, wilting under the intense scrutiny of his new teacher. The intruder had traveled all the way from Central to seek his apprenticeship and had been grudgingly accepted.  
That boy was me.

 

Ed's insides did a peculiar summersault that had nothing to do with air turbulence. "Kimblee? That…freak….that son of a bitch…?" Without realizing it his fingers brushed against his side where there was an ugly patch of scar tissue that ran from belly to back. He'd been mortally wounded in a battle in Briggs with Kimblee, a thin beam of rusted steel piercing him, pinning him to the ground and necessitating an attempt at human self-transmutation to save his own life. He had aged noticeably by several years—years that would be stolen from the end of his life. He had benefited from the transmutation in an odd way. He had gone through puberty in a matter of seconds and was secretly pleased to find himself taller in the bargain. Still, it had been hideously painful and he would never forgive the Crimson Alchemist for all the harm he had done to Alphonse, Winry and the soldiers he had murdered in Drachma for the sake of stirring up military discord between Drachma and Amestris....

 

Kimblee never forgot it. And from the day we met again at the academy I knew I had made a dangerous enemy. Even more dangerous when I realized he knew about me and Hughes. Oh, not that a word was ever spoken aloud. There were no outward signs of anything other than the tall prankster who loved to torment his quiet, bookish roommate, who would eventually get even using some form of alchemy. Hughes was always popping my arse with wet towels in the shower, punching my arm or mock-wrestling me to the ground, pinning me down and shouting triumphantly that alchemy was no match for brute strength. I would retaliate by transmuting his shower water to ice, changing his foods to something less palatable when he turned his back and if he pinned me I'd struggle until I could flip him on his back.   
More than once during training people gossiped about us. "Those guys are so competitive." And at some point, I'm sure somebody suggested we sure were touching each other an awful lot…because we were.   
One afternoon we were on the running track taking a few morning laps to keep in shape on our rest day. Kimblee and a few of his friends were sprawled out on the bleachers, soaking up the warm autumn sun. Maes tried to pass me and bumped me with his shoulder. I bumped back, He rammed me and made me stumble. I tripped him and he grabbed at me as he crashed to the ground. We wrestled in the dirt, laughing and shouting dire threats at one another until Maes had me face down in the dirt, his whole weight trapping me and he whooped in triumph because he had one of my arms behind my back making it impossible for me to transmute in retaliation.  
Kimblee offered us a slow, knowing grin. "Boys….boys! Careful now. Maybe you need to reread the Regulation N0/69 handbook again. I think Hughes is enjoying himself just a little too much sitting on top of Mustang, eh, gentlemen?"  
"Aw, fuck off, Kimblee," Maes laughed good naturedly. "I just have to keep reminding Mister Circus Freak Alchemist here that when it comes down to a fight, he'd be better off mastering hand to hand combat instead of that flashy hand clapping business. And I'll keep beating his ass until he successfully whips mine in a surprise attack."  
"I'm sure Mustang appreciates you being so…concerned…about his ass, Hughes." And for the first time I saw that nasty, insinuating smile of his—and I hated it. At the exact same moment, strange as it seems, I became intensely aware of Maes straddling my body, his weight on my hips, panting and sweating above me. My body reacted. It should have scared me. It should have shamed me. Instead it made me feel dizzy and drunk and scalding hot inside. I felt powerful and before I could stop myself I arched my back, flexed and slammed his shoulders hard against the ground, my legs twisted around his. I drew a transmutation circle in the dust, clapped my hands and the dirt roiled and stretched and wrapped itself around his wrists and ankles. I stood up, dusted myself off, gave him a mocking salute and marched back to the barracks, smirking in triumph.  
By the time I got to the showers I realized I was hard as a rock.

Regulation N0/69. You probably tossed that one in the trash along with any other military paperwork you were given after your certification. After all, you were twelve years old. Maybe Havoc didn't give you a copy, figuring you were too young to know what it meant or why it was a punishable offense. It was subtitled "Fraternization and Particular Friendships Peculiar To Gentlemen". I suspect it was the same edition my grandfather read when he was a plebe. It was one of those red hygiene booklets you have to read and sign as proof that you've read and understood the Army's policy on masturbation, sexually transmitted diseases, and homosexuality. Not that anyone paid attention; soldiers jerked off, caught the clap and there were always whispered stories about young officers who rose through the ranks swiftly by dropping to their knees—in fact, they now call this "mustanging" in my honor since nobody was willing to believe I made general before the age of 40 without fellating the Fuhrer and every ranked officer above my pay grade.  
I read the damned thing. Everybody did. We read it and signed it and assumed it had no bearing on us personally. After all, it was not as if any of us were going to…'do that'. Red blooded army cadets weren't interested in such things, correct?

That's not what my body was telling me. I felt hot. Electric. Heart beating altogether too hard and too fast. I closed my eyes and began to soap myself. When my hand brushed my groin it curled into a tight fist and suddenly Maes was forcing me down into the dirt beside the track, my hips locked between his thighs as he pinned me, both of us unaware that his cock was semi hard and pressed against the cleft of my buttocks. He was sweaty and breathing hard and I could still smell him. I squeezed myself tightly—in affirmation or denial I will never know for sure—and an instant later the chilly water sluiced away the hot spurts that hit my chest and neck. I'd come before, certainly, but never this intensely.   
Worst of all, I was not remotely ashamed or horrified. I was raised in a whorehouse, and while I never participated in the house amusements there were books in the parlor full of erotic engravings of every conceivable entanglement, and of every possible paring. I had been enlightened more so than my other classmates about male and female anatomy and how they fit together in various ways. This included men with men, and when I questioned my ever-so-forthright aunt about it she simply said, "there are guys who like guys and girls who like girls as well as guys and girls who like each other. That's the way it is, son." She placed no stain of taboo on male fraternization, so neither did I. I had just discovered that I could have an intense sexual reaction to another male and in my perfect logic I found nothing remotely upsetting about it. With minimal angst and no self-loathing whatsoever I decided that I would keep this tidbit of information to myself….especially after Kimblee's ugly little jest. However, as I tucked my spent genitals into a clean pair of boxers, I was relatively certain that Maes Hughes, with his endless bleating about Finding The Perfect Girl To Devote His Life To, would not be remotely interested in reciprocating. He might even break a few bones or rearrange my rather handsome features if I broached the subject.  
It was not until sack time that I discovered how much I had underestimated him.

We'd had pillow fights before. Usually he'd catch me across the back of the head with what he would call The Hughes Hay-Maker. I'd be at my desk, absorbed in my studies, and he'd wallop me so hard my nose would be jammed right into the pages. I would grab my own pillow and return fire, and eventually it would end with us wrestling on the beds or the floor until one of us admitted temporary defeat—until next time.  
Tonight it was different. He grabbed me around the waist and slammed me against the wall. "Dirty trick with the alchemy today, Roy," he teased. "I am sooo gonna whip your ass for that."  
"The hell you will."   
And he did. Outwardly I fought back with the usual force and good humor, but I was testing him. I allowed myself to be backed up against the edge of the bed, and as expected it didn't take much to throw us off balance. He landed on top of me and we grappled, rolling back and forth. Then—surely by accident—there was a hard, muscled thigh pressed between my legs. The pressure was firm and steady and he was panting and he was crouched half on top of me and I felt something rigid against my belly. It was pure animal instinct and need that made me rock my hips down to meet that pressure, and when I heard his breath catch the parts of my brain that govern reason and common sense apparently shut themselves down. I was riding that hard muscle, the thin cotton of my boxers providing the only barrier of decency between his skin and mine. He swore and began bucking against me, his breath hissing between clenched teeth.   
Shoving me flat against the mattress, he crawled down a little, shifted position until he was kneeling between my open thighs. Glancing down between our sweaty bodies he could see the arch of my swollen cock tenting the front of my shorts, and he grunted in something that sounded like approval. His own cock was heavy and straining against his fly, the plain blue fabric already spotted with drops of salty moisture.  
Edward, I could have stopped it right then and there. I could have laughed in his face, made some joke about him needing to hurry up and find The Perfect Woman. We would have pulled apart. He would have socked me gently on the shoulder and we would have made idiotic small talk and turned in to our respective racks and never mentioned it again. I sometimes wonder how much agony I might have saved myself if I had stopped him when he pried my thighs wide open with his knee and froze there, shaking, unsure of himself, unsure of me and a heavy, pulsing length inches from the body he'd been blindly humping moments before.  
But I wrapped my legs around his waist and clawed at his back. I opened my mouth and he filled it with his tongue. My aunt had said, "there are guys who like guys and girls who like girls as well as guys and girls who like each other. That's the way it is, son."  
He ground his cock against mine and bit my chest like he was ravenous.   
"That's the way it is, son." And that's the way it was.

 

Edward's breath whooshed out and he found swallowing hard with a mouth suddenly parched as the Xingese desert. If he'd been the one staring down at a nineteen year old Roy Mustang, hard and sweaty with his thighs open wide, he'd have done the same goddamn thing, he decided. His eyes slid closed for a moment and imagined being in Maes' place—hell, he had been, in a way. That first scent of another male in full rut, the power of knowing he had made Roy hard and helpless and aching to be touched and sucked on and licked and….and everything.  
His hands were sweaty as he unfolded the note again and scanned down to where he'd forced himself to stop reading.

 

I outlasted him but even as he slumped heavily onto my chest he kept bucking and rubbing and grinding himself into my groin until I smothered my groans into his neck. Something very warm and wet was trickling down my sides and the rich smell of musk and sweat filled my head and try as I might I could not force myself to let go of him, nor did he make any attempt to pull away from me. "Damn….you okay?" he finally whispered in my ear.  
"Hell yes." My hands began to move in a slow caress up and down his back and he invaded my mouth again with a tongue I now imagined could do things to my body that would make me helpless and reckless. And because we were nineteen it took no time at all. He reached down, then jerked his hand back. "We're a mess," I observed. "You're soaked through."  
In answer, he yanked off my shorts and threw them across the room, followed by his own.  
Ed, you're a grown man. You know as well as I do that things happen in the pressure of a war zone that don't happen when we have time to think it over. It's stress. It's madness, chemistry and impulse. Ed nodded The terrible void in his heart left by Al's departure made him vulnerable and lost and he had yielded to an impulse that had wrecked a lifelong friendship and brought two innocent children into the world to a home that was already breaking at the seams. "Yeah…I know, asshole. I could have said 'no' and I didn't either. And look how it fucked up our lives." Men who in other circumstances would never consider touching another male will grapple in their tents and when the war is over they put it out of their minds along with the piles of bullet riddled corpses and the stink of death.   
Maes Hughes, I have finally come to accept, was one of those persons. The friendship was unbreakable. The camaraderie would last a lifetime. But for Maes, passion ended when he went on furlough and met a pretty girl in a flower shop. For me, it never died.  
But if he hadn't felt something…it never would have happened the second time that night. Or the third. Or just before reveille We rubbed and kissed and jerked each other off slowly the last time before we went to sleep, lights on, staring into each other's eyes. After a few minutes of stroking my cock he released me and licked the palm of his hand. Again the smile and grunt of approval before his fingertip found my slit, pressing and stroking until it was thoroughly slick before easing under my foreskin to circle and circle, his mouth smothering my moans. A splash of white hit his chin and he licked it off. I thought my heart would burst.

We were muzzy headed as we fell in formation that morning. I had come five times in less than 24 hours. I had broken Regulation N0/69. I had awakened with another man's semen crusted and dried on my chest and belly and the smell of his cock on the fingers I'd sucked on once Maes snoring assured me he was spent and asleep.   
Kimblee took one look at my face and he knew. The bastard knew. There was that insinuating smile again that I would loathe until Pride devoured him. "Well, well….Hughes and Mustang. That was some impressive little display you put on for us yesterday. The alchemist and the fighter. Which one will end up…on top…I wonder?"  
I resigned myself to accept whatever Maes would give me. I prepared myself for bed that night assuming that my friend would not want to continue what we had begun. Once again I had misjudged him.  
I had settled down into my bunk when a voice in the dark called out, "HEY! It's freakin' cold over here!" Five minutes later his cock was nudging the back of my throat and I was swallowing that hot gush for the first time in my life and in equivalent exchange I gave him my soul.   
I came home for the holidays on winter furlough and told my Aunt Chris that I was in love. Thankfully, she didn't laugh. I was an idealistic young fool, in love with his brother in arms, in love with his country and in love with the image of the 'beautiful future' that Maes and I had begun to dream aloud of—a world of peace and plenty, where the gunfire would cease and we would lay down our arms and Amestris and her enemies would focus on building a utopian society together. "We'll make it happen together," we vowed, heads on the same pillow.

Aunt Chris asked me a few blunt questions and then for Solstice gave me a book—the same book she gave you when you nervously asked her about men making love together. I committed it to memory and as soon as I got back to camp I would tell Maes of all I'd learned…and I'd offer myself to him for the first time. He was big—very big—and it scared me a little, but I'd made up my mind. I wanted to take that last irrevocable step of trust and intimacy and I was ready to take it with Maes.  
I had smuggled some of the oil the book had recommended into my kit, along with a large box of condoms my aunt had given me, advising it would make it easier and more comfortable for me, although I wasn't quite sure how she knew. I heard the sound of drawers slamming from our room as I approached and was grinning widely, half hard already, so eager to hold him again…  
And found an insinuating smile greeting me from the bunk across the room.  
"Hello, Flaming Alchemist," said my new roommate, Zolf Kimblee. (To Be Continued..)


	15. SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed takes on The Ice Queen of Briggs—whose guns are bigger than Roy’s—and Pinako gets a first hand look at Roy’s parenting skills. Thankfully, she’s got her first aid kit handy…

SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED

CENTRAL CITY  
Pinako had taken her time. After all, how often did she get to leisurely visit the capital on her own? It was a treat to stroll through the public parks, to window shop, to puff samples of the finest imported tobacco at a pipe shop Havoc had told her about , and to dunk fresh baked crullers in possibly the best cup of coffee she'd ever tasted at some place Al had recommended called El Gattina. A flock of pretty young women greeted her excitedly as "Grandmamma Pinako" and treated her like the Empress of Drachma. The mustachioed owner, Faust, kissed her hand and tore her bill into tiny bits. "No, Signora Rockbell—your money is no good here! You come to teach automail this fall at the Hohenheim Institute? My nephew, Mario—he comes to study under you. Is very excited! Is my honor you enjoy my coffee and pastries-Sophie! You must wrap up something nice to send with the Signora for her dessert tonight. Oh, and a bottle of my specialty—limonchello. It is sunlight in a bottle, made from lemons from my own orchard back home. A sip of this will bring summer into your soul, yes?"

A bottle under her arm and a cake box in her hand, she stopped at last at the address Ed had given her. She'd heard the commercials and the radio segments, and it was time to meet Gracia Hughes face to face at last.

Pretty little mouse, isn't she? Not big as a minute and without the hard labor of medicine and metalsmithing that kept the Rockbell women fit, Pinako suspected Gracia ate a lot of salads and read about the newest diet trends in rubbish magazines like Central Sass and such. City women are too thin, too pale and could do with some cleaner air.  
As soon as Gracia recognized who had wandered in her face lit up. "Ms. Pinako, I'm so delighted to meet you!" The smile was warm and genuine and the handclasp was surprisingly strong. "Elycia—honey! Come out and meet Ed and Al's grandmother!"  
She was a pretty child, but Pinako looked at her fair cheeks and crinoline petticoats and little stockings and thought that she'd look better in dungarees running up the side of a country hillside. Winry had lived much of her life out in the mountain air, playing by the river and getting dirty, and she'd hardly been sick a day in her life. She'd grown up strong and sturdy and beautiful, just like her mother—just like Tricia Elric had been as well. Poor little thing probably never climbed a tree or splashed in a mud puddle or skinned her knees in her life. Maybe I can do something about that.  
"Maes and Nina will be staying with Roy for a few weeks." Gracia smiled politely and tried not to cringe when Pinako puffed on her little silver travel pipe. "Izumi and Sig are on holiday and if Roy is going to share in the lives of these children he'd better start now."  
A queer look passed over Gracia's lovely features. Pinako's eyes narrowed. You don't approve." Blunt and to the point,  
Gracia hesitated. "Oh….no. Not…that. It's…just…well…with Ed gone-"  
"—you think Ed knows any more about child rearing than Roy does? Let me tell you something, Gracia." She leaned in closer. "Ed and Winry were the two of the worst prepared new parents I've seen in my life—only Hohenheim was worse. Ed at least loves those kids and isn't afraid to try, even if half the time he pins the diaper on wrong-for which I'm relieved that Nina is finally potty trained. Ed never gives up. Roy doesn't strike me as a quitter either. He'll be okay—but he doesn't need to be rescued. He needs to appreciate that the ones who change the diapers change the world."  
Gracia looked thoughtful. "Al seems to be a natural with children."  
A corner of Pinako's mouth tightened. "Mebbe. But I don't see him settling down anytime soon." While Al would have made a better husband for Winry, she believed, his own wanderlust—and other lusts—would eventually come between them. Winry had no idea that Al had been romping with more than a few pretty faces—probably every one of those minxes at the bakery. One of these days that girl will take of those new rose-colored glasses she wears around Al since he became a hero aeronaut. And I don't want the truth to hurt her again. No…the last thing she needs is another Elric to break her heart.

By the time Pinako arrived at the Palace it was nearly midnight. She'd stopped in for dinner with a certain Christmas Mustang and advised her that Chris' boy was going to be having some damned rough days ahead. The blowsy older woman in her pearls and furs hooted with laughter, poured Pinako another shot of Stray Dog, and grinned wickedly. "Got no problem with that little plan," she approved. "Between the two of us I think my Roy-Boy will turn out all right as father material….as long as we don't go easy on him."  
"I'll drink to that!" The two old women clinked their glasses and downed their whiskey with a single gulp.

A tall wisp of a man took her bags. "Would Madame like to—"  
"Stuff it, sonny." She bit down on her pipe. "Where are my great grandchildren?"  
"Mrs. Rockbell, if you'll come with me, I'll take you to them. Only," he laid a finger to his lips, "they've only just gone to sleep so we need to be as quiet as we can."  
Through the crack of the nursery door she could see him sprawled out in the big chintz covered chair between Nina's crib and Mae's little cot. Nina was draped across the Fuhrer President's chest, clutching his aiguillette cord. Must have been some night, Pinako guessed. Nina had always been a bad sleeper, and Maes was hell to get into bed short of direct threats to his little behind. Nina was flushed and snoring softly in the curve of Roy's arm. Roy's other hand had been captured at some point by Maes' fingers and the boy had never let go.

Roy opened his bleary eyes a crack and nodded to her.  
She could have bailed him out. Instead, she closed the door softly behind her. There was a mewl from Nina, followed by a soft, "Shhhhh…it's all right. Go back to sleep."  
She unpacked her bags and then poured herself a nightcap of limonchello. She smacked her lips in delight. It does taste like sunshine. I'll have to stop by and thank the old geezer. Her late husband had sported a mustache like that. It always tickled the insides of her thighs in the best possible way. The memory made her smile.

An hour later, she heard a second set of snores join her great-granddaughter. "His back is going to kill him in the morning." Satisfied, she slipped under the covers. "Trisha," she said aloud, "I don't think you have a damn thing to worry about."

SOMEWHERE IN THE TRANS-AMESTRIS TUNNELS  
Pio Ignacio Bacalla, Aerugoan envoy and curmudgeon, currently ranking at the top of Sig Curtis' personal shit list, had spent two ass-numbing days in high speed transit to Brigg's Station, clinging for dear life to the sidecar driven by Ed's personal bodyguard, Ruby of Wisteria Valley. Under ordinary circumstances Bacalla would have ventured to say that Ruby was a rather attractive and spirited young woman. That was before she proved herself utterly mad and as violent tempered and reckless as the man she was hired to protect. Bacalla had pissed off Prince Claudio, who had all but banished him for the remainder of the summer, doomed to freeze his nethers off among the barbarians of Drachma with those obnoxious Elric brothers. And since he'd some how—through no fault of his own—alienated the entire staff of Rail Amestris, his only way of making it on time was by motorbike.  
What terrified him was that now Ruby was pulling over in the near darkness every few hours. She bullied him out of the sidecar, dropped in to his vacated seat, folded her arms and began to drift off. "G'wan…get moving, dickhead. God, you're as useless as a one legged Elric in an ass-kicking contest."  
"But….but…I've never driven a motorcycle before!" he protested  
"Good time to learn," She tugged her jacket collar up under her chin. "Stay between the lines and whatever you do don't fall asleep and hit the wall. Get moving!"

It had been pure murder trying not to by hypnotized by the endless road stripe, the occasional flash of the tubeway lights and the bust-of-Alex-Armstrong mile markers. There was a comfort station every ten miles. He'd seen them and he feared them, but if he'd hiked up the road and dropped his pants he could have been hit by one of the rare couriers or convoys that roared thru the shadows. Since it would have been ignoble to die with a Amestrian Military hood ornament shoved up his rectum, he braved the snakes and scuttling vermin, crapped swiftly, zipped and buckled and drove on through the endless night, loathing Amestris, the Elrics, Roy Mustang and the Prince who had condemned him to this endless journey into what must have been the Lower Realms of Aerugoan mythology. Twisting and turning, taking some of the curves on two wheels, it had been like being passed rapidly thru the colon of El Diavolo Himself.  
And in about twelve more hours, El Diavolo would shit them both out into the frosty daylight of Briggs Mountain.

THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, CENTRAL  
Pinako nodded at Roy as she neatly tied the bandage around his head. The bleeding had almost stopped. "All things considered, it's been a quiet evening, I reckon." She passed him a bottle of aspirin. "You'll need these.  
Roy stared at the bottle ruefully. "And a shot of scotch to wash them down."  
Pinako lit her pipe. "Fresh out, Have a shot of this—careful, though. It's about 151 proof."  
Roy regarded the limcello with contempt. "Back on the battle field we used to brew Oh Be Joyful out of potato peels, shoe leather, dead snakes, gunpowder—"  
"—and the short hairs off a dead man's ass. I know. My son Urey used to give the amputee cases Oh Be Joyful when he ran out of chloroform or brandy or morphine. This is from El Gattina. Damn tasty." Roy took a deep swallow and nodded. The sweetness of the sugar and lemon was delightfully tangy. It was best served ice cold but even at room temperature it was very good.  
"Aunt Chris called this 'lemonade with a hard-on'. He's not selling this, is he? You need a liquor license for something this potent."  
"No, he makes it himself. This was a gift, not a purchase." There was something about the devilish glint in her eyes that would have provoked some teasing if Roy hadn't just gotten three stitches in the back of his head. Pinako surveyed her handiwork. "Well, you boys match now. You and Ed. Both of you got scars on your scalp."  
"Mine was an accident. Maes had nothing to do with it. Well, not directly, anyway."  
At that moment the door burst open and a furious Owen Knox shoved his way past Colonel Hawkeye, bag in hand. "Roy? What the hell happened to you? I heard on the radio you would be sending the Colonel to open Parliament because you'd gotten injured."  
His head hurt so much even turning his eyes made him wince. "It's nothing. I slipped in some soapy water on the stairs banged my head."  
Dark brows knitted in confusion. "How the hell did that happen?"  
"Chasing a very small, very soapy, very fast little Elric when I tried to give him a bath this morning." Roy nodded at Hawkeye. "The Colonel was bathing Nina, and I was sure I could handle Maes all by myself. Shot out of my hands, slick as a melon seed and went running down the hall—"  
"—naked as a jaybird, covered with bubbles and laughing his little butt off," Pinako. "Roy gave him a good chase but when Maes took off down the stairs Roy slipped in a puddle and banged his head. Nothing I couldn't clean and stitch up myself," she added sharply, her eyes daring Roy's personal physician to question her competence to work on the Presidential head.  
Knox nearly laughed at the mental image of the consummate soldier Roy Mustang being out flanked and outwitted by a clever preschooler. Still, Roy could have been seriously injured and that was his business. "You paddled his tail?"  
"It was an accident," Roy bristled. "Sebastian caught him and carried him up the steps and Pinako took over. He doesn't know, and I 'm not going to upset him. But he added quickly at Pinako's frown, "I am going to talk to him about how dangerous that was—how he could have gotten hurt and how upset that would make us all." He turned his head and it throbbed horribly. If something as simple as bathing Maes had escalated into a full scale national crisis, complete with Radio Capital coverage and missing Parliament, how the hell was he going to manage this? Hawkeye was going on leave with Havoc, Sebastian had the household to manage, Sheska ran Ed and Al's office in their absence while Ruby was acting as courier-and Pinako was going to be busy as hell working with the teaching staff at the Institute setting up the forges and workshops for the automail classes.  
What the hell was he going to do?

FORT BRIGGS  
"Right fifteen degrees, Lieutenant. Compensate for wind resistance."  
"Aye, General, Ma'am!" The gunnery sergeant cranked his weapon down a fraction and consulted his compass."  
"But—but General…that's the Xerxes!" A nervous Vato Falman protested. He'd arrived ahead of the courier ferrying the Aerugoan envoy, bringing supplies and a private message from the Fuhrer to Edward Elric. "Surely you're not going to open fire on Ed and Al, are you?"  
"Don't be ridiculous. We are welcoming the Elric brothers back to Briggs as we would any heroes—with a twenty-one gun salute." A corner of her lovely mouth lifted in amusement. Of course, the empty shells used for artillery training would arc harmlessly over the airship, well out of range, as would the rifle barrage. She had perfected this type of accolade years ago when Roy and his troops came north in spy balloons in an attempt to outflank her during winter training exercises. Of course, she hadn't touched the balloon or harmed one hair on his arrogant head…but it had shown him she meant business, and if she had really wanted to do him it would have been a very easy thing indeed. Let's see what the 'bold, fearless aeronaut Elrics' from all the papers are really made of these days. " On my mark….FIRE!"  
Someone ripped a hole in the sky and Edward nearly pissed on himself. "Fuckin' hell, Al!" he shouted. "That crazy bitch is trying to get us killed!" Shells were slicing though the air over their heads and when Ed leaned over the gondola a bullet whistled past his nose. "Where's the goddamned white flag?"  
"Here."  
Ed snatched the banner out of his brother's hand and began waving it frantically. "DON'T SHOOT! CEASE FIRE!" he bellowed through the airship's megaphone. The concussive force of two more volleys of artillery caused the Xerxes to sway dangerously. Ed leaned over, and the makeshift banner was swung back and forth in wide arcs. "Goddamn it, stop shooting! It's us!" He stared wildly at Dr Chen, who was wielding the binoculars. "Did they get that?"  
Chen nodded. "They're laughing at you, if that's what you were wondering."  
"Goddamn it! Why the hell are they laughing?"  
"Because," Alphonse beamed innocently, "you're waving your boxer shorts at General Armstrong."  
"WHAAAAT?" Ed ducked back into the basket and examined the white truce flag he'd been waving to get the Briggs troops to stop shooting at them. Standard military issue, size small. Not his newest or his cleanest. An old pair kept for emergencies along with a change of worn leather trousers and a faded t-shirt he could put on if repairs on the Xerxes involved getting filthy or sweaty as they sometimes did. Alphonse had conveniently swiped them out of Ed's kit and handed them to him as a joke in lieu of the handkerchief-on-a-stick they'd stored as a truce signal flag.  
Ed nearly burned two holes through his brother's skull as his golden eyes took on the appearance of molten lava. "You he growled, "are not my brother. I hope you get the clap. I hope your dick falls off. "  
Alphonse giggled. "Oh, come on, brother—it was just a joke."  
"All the way off, Al.." His older brother was not amused. "And you're gonna be standing back in the Xingese harem and they're gonna say, 'hey Alphonse-what happened to your dick?' And you're gonna stand there looking stupid with your nut sack flapping' in the breeze…and somewhere I'm gonna be laughing my ass off at—aw, FOR FUCKSAKE WOULD YOU MORONS QUIT SHOOTING AT US?"

"Welcome back to Fort Briggs, gentlemen. I hope you enjoyed your twenty-one gun salute." From beneath a veil of thick flaxen hair General Olivier Mila Armstrong glanced up from her paperwork and nodded at Dr. Chen and the Elric brothers.  
"YOU TRIED TO FUCKIN' KILL US!" Ed ranted, shaking his fist.  
She shut him up with a single glance. "The Xerxes is untouched. Your crew was unharmed—unless a few flying shells are enough to make you soil yourself. Speaking of which, we normally debrief visitors all official visitors to the mountain—however, it appeared to us on the wall that you'd already…debriefed….yourself, Edward." To his right Dr. Chen heard Ed's back molars grinding , while to his left, Alphonse stifled a chuckle. "Those ventilated drawers are not regulation—but as you're no longer in the military I'm afraid I can't hold you to that. They would prove drafty, however, so my supply officer has provided you with a fresh pair."  
Ed's cheeks burned. "Ah…I don't really need-"  
"—and I took the liberty of wiring Fuhrer Mustang and he approved the requisition, and added that it will be taken out of your paycheck. And speaking of His Excellency Ed detected a hint of sarcasm here.—Edward, the Fuhrer wishes it have a private phone conference with you tonight—9pm sharp. I have arranged for a line to be connected in your quarters. Falman here has a set of eyes-only documents for Edward as well. Oh and Dr. Chen, Alphonse—you need to make arrangements for an additional passenger who will be accompanying you to Drachma. An envoy from Aerugo, arriving by military escort some time tomorrow."  
Al brightened. "Is it Princess Elena?" he asked hopefully. "She's so much fun—I bet she'd like to go with me when we hunt devotchkas."  
General Armstrong sat up straight. "Hunting…devotchkas, Alphonse? Did I hear that correctly?"  
"Oh yes! My friends in Drachma say there is nothing tastier than a fresh caught devotchka. I don't know what kind of fish or animal it is, but it sounds so delicious, I can hardly wait to eat one! Elena will want to eat one too, I bet!"  
There was a quiver of the General's lower lip that was too subtle to be noted. She didn't trust herself to comment further. "I'll expect you both for dinner, eighteen hundred hours. Dismissed!"  
Ed was halfway out the door before a pair of crisply starched boxer shorts caught him in the back of the head. "And change your drawers, Edward!"  
Ed closed the door behind them. Al chortled with mirth. Ed leveled him with a venomous glare. "And I hope her dick falls off too!"

THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, CENTRAL  
"Son, I want to show you something."  
"Yah?"  
Roy held up an ostrich egg. Easy enough to obtain, since the they were bred for their tasty meat, tough leather, their plumage and their generous eggs which made platoon-sized omelets. He had painted it with the smiling image of a little girl with brown hair. "I want to show you what happens when you run on the stairs, especially if you're wet and soapy. Let's pretend this is Nina. You love your little sister more than anything, right?"  
"YAH!"  
"Even more than your stuffed Kitty, right?"  
"Uh huh!"  
"Okay…let's pretend that Nina was running like you were this morning when you got out of your bath. She's' got bubbles flying everywhere, and it's fun running around bare with all the grownups chasing and yelling after you, right?"  
Maes giggled. He'd loved every minute of the attention.  
"Okay. So, Nina's running down the hall…and she knows she shouldn't ever run in the house. She's wet and soapy, just like you were." Roy held up the egg so the boy could see it clearly. "She's running and she slips like I did when I chased after you. Want to see what happens?"  
He opened his hands. The egg smashed on the steps below them, the yoke oozing down in a way that made the little boy catch his breath. "NINA!" He prepared to run down the steps—  
-and he stopped. He put his small hand on the spacer rail and clung to them as he scurried down to the mess below. He poked his finger in the puddle of goo and the sight of the broken shell with his sister's face painted on his made him start to sob. "She's all brokedey! Nina! Nina!"  
Roy was at his side in an instant and pulled him onto his lap. "Maes…son, listen to me, now. Nina's not hurt. This is an egg. Just a big old egg. But see how it got broken and we can't put it back together? When you ran down the stairs, you could have slipped and you'd have broken like this egg—and Granny Pinako and Doctor Knox wouldn't have been able to put you back together again. You saw how I fell, didn't you?"  
"And you laughed-but when big boys fall they can get 'brokedey' too. I hit my head and Granny had to stitch me up." He parted his hair and let the child see the bandage.  
The little face screwed up in misery, but before he could begin to bawl Roy put one finger under his quivering chin. "Maes, you want to know how to fix this?"  
Ed's son gulped back his tears. "Uh huh."  
"We do three things—you're a big boy, and you're smart and I know you can remember three things. First, no running inside. Ever. We walk and we look where we're going. Second, if a grownup asks you to settle down, you sit down and be still—because we don't ask if there isn't a good reason. Third-you're a big brother. You have a very special job. Know what that is?"  
"I help Nina be good!"  
Roy smiled at the child, marveling again at how bright he was. But then his father and uncle were practicing alchemy in preschool. Why should I be surprised that Maes—and probably Nina—will be prodigies in their own right? "Right you are—you're very, very smart, you know that, Maes?"  
"Yes, I am!" He poked out his little chest with pride.  
"So you can help Nina stay safe and teach her to be as good as you are, right son?"  
"Uh, huh!"  
"Good. Now," he rose to his feet. "Sebastian is going to clean this up. And what you are going to do is give me a hug Roy braced himself for the pain that would follow the exuberant embrace,"-and Granny is going to take you into the city. You're going to meet Aunt Gracia and her little girl Elycia. Their daddy…was…a very good friend of mine and your dad's. His name was Maes and because Uncle Maes was so…" his throat began to tighten, "…such…a good man, your mom and your dad called you Maes too." Roy shook his head, trying not to let the old grief show on his face. "I promised Elycia that when you and Nina came to visit you'd all get to play together so Granny and Aunt Gracia are taking all of you out for ice cream-if you behave…and I know you will, because you're so smart, right?"  
Maes looked suddenly sly. "Can I blow bubbles in my choklishake? Unka Jean told me I could." He giggled. "He sticks straws up his nose, too."  
"I…no. Let's not, okay?"

Roy closed the door to his bedroom and sank wearily down on the sofa in front of the fireplace. "What the fuck am I doing?" he muttered. His head was throbbing but since he'd had some of that lethal limonchello it would be hours before Knox could give him anything stronger for pain so he'd have to tough it out as always.  
The worst of the pain wasn't anything pills or liquor could do anything to abate. He needed his mate. Closing his eyes, he remembered the first time he and Ed had made love on this sofa before a roaring fire back at the old palace. Back then it was Ed with stitches in his scalp, not Roy, and while right this minute he was hardly up for anything athletic it would have meant everything to curl up together right now and just be.  
He glanced at the clock. A few more hours. I'll call him after dinner…and then…  
He curled himself around Ed's favorite pillow and closed his eyes.  
…..TO BE CONTINUED


	16. "TO HOLD YOU IN THE DARK"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With all the insanity of coping with Ed’s kids. Roy feels…deprived. And with Ed at Brigg’s Mountain, Roy’s gone from deprived to downright depraved—and abuses the powers of office to get a private line straight to Ed’s bedside…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for dragonimp, for her wonderful illustration of Roy and Ed curled up on the couch together from HALF LIVES

Whole Lives, Chapter 17"…To Hold You In The Dark…"

(for Dragonimp)

Pinako tossed Roy a knowing look as she escorted Maes and Nina down the hall after hugging Uncle Roy goodnight. "Been a long day," she told him pointedly. "At least El Gattina's still standing and Gracia hasn't banned Maes from her house."

In fact, the Elric kids had been a hit at Al's favorite sweet shop. The pretty shop girls had oohed and ahhhed over Nina's green eyes and big dimples, while old Faust had entertained the inquisitive little boy by showing him how to make what Maes called a "nanashit", which caused Elycia to clap her hands over her mouth comically and gasp in horror. She strode up to the grinning little demon and scolded, "Maes, you're a boy and I'm a girl and we can be friends—but you can't do that!" Whereupon the young troublemaker offered her the whole messy concoction, banana slices poking every which way and great glops of chocolate and caramel syrup dripping from his sticky little fingers. "It's good!" he told her sagely, and she found herself unable to stay mad at him more than a few seconds. "Say 'banana split', Maes, Elycia begged.  
"Nanashit!"  
"Mama! Why does he talk like that!" she demanded.  
Gracia looked to Pinkao who shook her head ruefully. "Comes by it naturally," the old woman sighed. "Maes Urey Elric, mind your manners. Bring that mess over here and share with the girls."  
Elycia carried the brimming dish to the table and dug in as Maes flipped over the menu card and poked a chubby finger at the pictures of the bakery treats. Elycia peered over his shoulder. "Ohh, that's my favorite!" she exclaimed rapturously. "Kookie Kats!"  
Nina stared at the picture for a long time. Then she shook her head so violently her brown curls whipped her shoulders. "Wwong!" Her finger traced the offending word. "C…A…T. Cat!"  
Gracia's jaw dropped. "Well…I'll be damned!"  
Pinako shook her head and smiled, a little sadly, into her coffee. "Figures."  
#  
Roy knocked back a shot of scotch. Nina could read.Maybe not well, but to recognize the difference between 'kat' and 'cat'. He grimaced as the liquor burned its way down to his stomach. "And how old were Ed and Al before anyone noticed how exceptional they were? Was that one of the reasons Hohenheim was afraid of his own offspring? At least these two will have their gifts nurtured and guided on all sides. Nobody wants to see another disaster like a human transmutation attempt. Maes demands the most attention, he smiled to himself, but Nina's going to be the one who surprises everybody, I think."  
He glanced at the clock, noted the time and the acceleration of his heart rate. For the first time in hours, his cock was throbbing harder than his aching head.  
#  
BRIGGS MOUNTAIN  
At eighteen hundred hours, Edward scooted onto a rough trestle bench and snagged a hunk of fresh bread from the basket in the middle of the table. A saber cracked against his wrist, flat side down. "Owwwshit!"  
"You'll eat when given leave to eat—when all our subordinates have been served. They do the work around here," Olivier Armstrong nodded around her, "so it is fitting they are served first. Ed slunk down a fraction and surreptitiously rubbed his aching wrist. His stomach growled in appreciation at the rich, savory aroma coming from the great kettles of stewed lamb and vegetables that had been delivered by train from across the Drachman border. Hot stew, fresh bread, strong coffee—simple soldier's fare but it seemed like a feast. And after dinner, Ed reminded himself, Roy would be calling and Ed would be alone to talk or…  
His face abruptly began to burn scarlet and his trousers suddenly felt tighter than normal. Or….something. Sex was…well…it wasn't something he was completely comfortable talking about…yet. He had no inhibitions about anything he and Roy did in bed or on the sofa or on Roy's desk or wherever. It was just…he didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to…well…he didn't know what the hell he wanted to do, but he knew that he'd be wringing his dick in the dark and trying to not let Roy know he was getting off at the sound of that low purring voice that dripped insinuation when it wasn't firing insults.

Abruptly, he was yanked out of his reverie by a pair of mammoth hands that jerked him off the bench, leaving him to dangle half a foot above the table.  
"EDWARD ELRIC! IT IS SO GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN! MY MAGNIFICENT MUSCLES ARE PULSING AND FLEXING IN DELIGHT AT THIS HAPPY REUNION!"  
Alex Louis Armstrong. Nature's fifth wonder and the perfect antidote to any hard on Ed had been playing host to. Followed by the second most perfect antidote to any hard on Ed had been playing host to. She slung off her leather jacket, draped it over the bench and allowed herself to be gently lifted and seated by the hulking behemoth that had manhandled Edward.  
"Ruby." Shit.  
"Boss man." She waved at him as she beamed up at Alex. "So sweet of you to help a lady out. I really appreciate it."  
"MISS RUBY, IT IS AN ARMSTRONG'S GREATEST HONOR AND DUTY TO SERVICE THE LADIES-"  
"You might want to rephrase that," Ed smirked, "before Ruby gets any wrong ideas about you're intentions, dude."  
The twin bicep-curls of Armstrong's mustache quivered and a gigantic paw covered his face in shame. His sparkles faded. "OH, THE SHAME OF IT ALL! TO THINK THAT THE WORDS OF AN ARMSTRONG COULD BE INTERPRETED TO MEAN—"  
"Shut up, little brother." The flat of the Major General's sword flashed threateningly. Miraculously, he did, seating himself carefully beside Ruby in a manner that did not immediately launch everyone else on the bench into the air. "Ruby, welcome back to Briggs. You have the new maps I requisitioned from Central?"  
"Falman's got them. And that case of antibiotics from Dr. Knox. Already delivered to the medics. Oh and there's a couple of packages and letters for the Xerxes crew, including, she tossed a knowing glance at Ed, "some private correspondence from The Big Guy in Central."  
"Big?" Olivier Mila Armstrong stared at Ruby. Then she guffawed loudly in a manner that made the soldiers chuckle and stare at Ed. "Big? You're not referring to His Excellency, then. "  
"Oh, it's from Mustang, all right."  
"I would avoid any hyperbole when referring to…Roy. Not that I would cast aspersions on the President's…shortcomings.It's nothing he can help, after all."  
"NOW, SISTER—" Alex remonstrated, lifting a cautioning hand and looking as if he were privy to some confidence that made him markedly uncomfortable.  
Ed frowned. He didn't like all this up-your-sleeve sniggering over his lover. A sour scowl was offered to the crew that circled around the dinner table. "I don't know what the fuck you people are talkin' about. And," he lifted his hand in caution, "I don't' want to know." He scrambled to his feet and stalked out the door under a hail of derisive laughter…  
…and promptly knocked down a tall fellow in a black goatee that was accompanying his kid brother into the mess hall.

It was the third most perfect antidote to any hard on Ed had been playing host to: Pio Ignacio Bacalla, Castellan of his highness Prince Claudio Rufo Aerugo. "What the fuck are you doing here?"  
Bacalla had been blessed with a nose prominent enough to encourage sidewise glances at his crotch. Above that impressive beak Bacalla's black eyes narrowed with keen displeasure. "My Sovereign's good will, sir—not that I had any choice in the matter. Ohhh no. Because we all know I have such a penchant for masochism. I'll always be the first to get down on my knees and say, "Your Highness, it would just makemyday to roar up the alimentary canal of Amestris on the back of a motorbike with a madwoman, only to be shat out in the frozen wastes of Briggs and forced to spend time with the Fuhrer's favorite cream bun—"  
Alphonse looked puzzled. "Cream bun?" He glanced at his brother. "Ed? What does he mean?"  
Ed folded his arms and looked bored. "Creambun," he recited from memory. "Finochio. Pole smoker. Lick spigot. Pillow biter. Bocchino. Nellie. Buttered bread, knobber, saddle-of-love, catamite. Flower of manhood. Honey roll. Hope chest. Poundcake. Mangina. Meat pillow. Three cens bill—as in 'queer as'. Passion fruit. Peg-hole. Busone. Pin cushion. Pumpkin. Glazed donut. Switcher. Lap-jockey. Bumboy. Yoo-hoo. Bakery goods. Ham bender. Orrecchichone. Sausage bun. Bit of diddle—oh, and this is a goodie: one who partakes of the Aristocratic Vice." He shook his head and grinned. "He's calling me a faggot, Al. "  
Whereupon Al smashed Bacalla's nose so flat it looked concave before helping him to his feet. Bacalla swayed unsteadily so Alphonse simply tossed him over one brawny shoulder like a sack of dirty laundry. "Say hi to Roy for me, will you? I'm taking Signor Bacalla to the medics. Shame he accidentally walked into my fist."  
#  
"What a tool." Ed knocked back a shot of brandy after locking the bedroom door. He was startled to see an extra towel on his bed. Nobody ever got extra anything at Briggs, unless it was extra k.p. or ice duty. Then he noticed the private phone line wired in beside the bed had an extra-long cord and his face grew hot. "Guess that explains the towel, huh? Doesn't want to wash the sheets until after I leave." His hand crept to his collar. He hesitated. Maybe Roy wanted him to undress while they spoke. Ed kind of liked the idea of Roy stripping for him in Central—granted, he wouldn't be able to see those scarred abs or that ivory chest but his memory was excellent and his imagination wasn't half bad either. He sank down on the bed and closed his eyes, focusing on the warm pulsing that had begun between his thighs.  
Damn. He kept thinking about that snide asswipe who had come all the way from Aerugo just to rag him about sleeping with another man. "I mean, who gives a shit, anyway? It's no big deal in Aerugo and in Amestris only a few jerkoffs make jokes about it." He'd never heard that kind of backtalk in Resembool because it simply didn't matter to most people. They were too busy getting on with their own lives to be overly concerned with who did what in bed as long as it wasn't their own. Hell, Winry had gone to work for a man who wore more makeup than she ever had in her life and nobody thought twice about it.  
It wasn't that Bacalla was giving him shit about it—it was the implication that Roy was being indirectly insulted. "You wanna call me a cocksucker, be my guest," he muttered as he kicked his shoes across the room and toed off his socks. "You start bad mouthing my-"  
He paused. His…what exactly was Roy to him? Lover? Nahhh….too sentimental. Domestic partner? "Just sounds stupid to me." Significant other? "What the hell does that mean?"  
Husband?  
Before he could chew on that thought the phone buzzed through his reverie. "About damn time." He snatched the phone impatiently and felt his trousers grow uncomfortable at the first purring words"Well….this is one of the few times in your life you actually obeyed a presidential order. I wasn't sure you'd…come…when I called."  
"Bastard."  
"Missed you too," Roy chuckled, "or perhaps I would say I'd have missed you more if I didn't have those little…reminders…scampering around naked in the halls, breaking china, peeing on my uniform and swearing in front of the servants. It's almost like you were still here—well, except for the pee on my trousers, although I've always assumed that was one of Sebastian's cats doing that in the laundry room….or so I hoped."  
Ed's throbbing erection began to droop yet again. "What the fuck are you talking about, Roy?"  
"Seems Izumi and Sig and Pinako decided to test my parental skills in your absence—which, by the way, I have passed with flying colors. At least," he qualified, "Pinako trusts me to clean up Nina's spilled juice and not wring your son's neck when he decided to crawl inside the grand piano to see what made it work and brought his jam sandwich in there with him."  
There was a prolonged silence on the Briggs side of the conversation. "Ed? Hello? Are you still there?"  
There was a heavy sigh. "I should have known Teacher would pull some shit like this. I ought to—"  
"—calm down, that's what you ought to do. Pinako is here with them, we're getting along well and your daughter has Gracia Hughes baffled because apparently Nina is too young to be able to read, and it seems nobody told your daughter this, because she's started correcting people's spelling—"  
"WHAT?"  
"Ed-look, I'll call in the morning and put Pinako on the kids all on the line so you can talk—but rightnow I'm preoccupied by a rather impressive erection that is the result of not hearing you foul-mouthed endearments in my ear while you leave love bites all over my neck that require cosmetic concealment. Now," his voice dropped an octave and Ed's cock twitched in response, "turn out the lights—lie down—and the next sound I need to hear should be that of a zipper being undone."  
#  
"Switch to speakers, Corporal."  
"Ma'am?" The young communications officer looked uneasily at his commanding officer.  
"It's a matter of national security," Olivier Armstrong smirked into her coffee.  
#  
Sex games were proving problematic for Edward. When it came down to it, he was better at show than tell, and it frustrated him. Roy was sensitive enough to intuit this, and took the lead before Ed got so riled he quit and hung up. There was time, Roy reasoned, for his sexually repressed rube from Resembool to get better at this—but right this minute they were both near the bursting point. "Edward…listen to me…just close your eyes and listen…" His voice became velvety and if it had dropped any lower Ed would have suspected he'd have grown a third testicle.  
"Remember that night we brought Khamsin home? It was right after we got home from Aerugo—"  
"—right before you collapsed and almost died on me—"  
"-and we came up from the stable, all dirty and covered with hay and we went upstairs to get washed? You had those old leather trousers on—the ones you got when you were sixteen and they were just a little bit tight since you've gotten taller and more…muscular…"  
"You mean my dick got bigger?" Ed boasted.  
Not according to Alphonse. He's heard you say it once too often and he's seen you getting dressed almost all your life. "Mmmm….". A safe, noncommittal response. "Those pants don't leave much to the imagination, Edward….and I remember you went up the stairs ahead of me and when I looked up…I swear all I wanted to do was chew your zipper right out of those pants and tie your wrists to the stair rails and let you bury that cock of yours so deep in my throat that you choked me." A ragged gasp on the other side of the line confirmed that Roy was on the right track, and to be truthful the mental image of himself with his nose buried in a thicket of fine golden curls was making him hard as hell. He took a sip of brandy from the bottle at his elbow and continued. "You were all sweaty…you'd been around the horses and fresh hay and night air and leather…and you smelled so good."  
"You…you wanted to bite out the crotch of my pants?" Ed whispered.  
"If it hadn't been for Sebastian lurking around, I'd have sucked you off on the steps—however, since we were headed for the shower anyway I figured that was the most expedient way of getting you naked."  
A rough, callused thumb swept over the head of Ed's cock, spreading the slickness. "Conniving jackass…you're a lecherous old man, Mustang."  
"And you knew goddamned well what those leather pants were doing to me."  
"Maybe I wanted you to bend me over the stair rail—"  
"I'd have rammed you hard we'd have smashed through and landed on the piano. No, the shower seemed a safer venue for what I had in mind."  
Ed snapped off the light and wrapped his arms around his pillow. "Remind me, asshole."  
Nowhe'sgettingintoit…andsoamI. He buried his face in his lover's pillow, inhaled deeply and gently squeezed his aching balls. "Mmmmmm….as I recall, you had already stripped off that sweaty t-shirt by the time I caught up with you…" A soft "hhhnnn!" from the other side of the phone. "You turned around and you were grinning at me. You had hay In your hair and your ponytail was half undone, and you were sunburnt and perfect and you were making my mouth water. I…I'm leaning into you…" his voice became soft and hypnotic, and you turn your head to one side so I can get at your neck…"  
Goosepimples broke out all over Ed's shoulders and arms. He remembered that hot, sucking bite that stung and sent a jolt down straight to his groin. "You gonna mark me, bastard?"  
"All over…all the way down…"  
"The hell you will."  
"MMmmm…that little hollow at the base of your throat…that's a good spot. Let's get you into the shower." There was a soft grunt of assent, so Roy continued. "Notice how your nipples get so hard when the spray hits them…'  
"Your tongue feels better…"  
"How about my teeth? A little nip before things get really interesting?" Roy interpreted the desperate hiss as a 'yes'. "Oh…you like that, do you? Come closer…I don't bite—wait…let me rephrase that. I only bite the right places. Any suggestions?" He didn't dare wait to give his lover a chance to answer. "I happen to know this little spot in the inside of your thigh….lift your leg just a little…let me get down there and…mmm….right…there…so close to…mmmm.." Roy pinched his nipples hard and shivered. "God…Edward…" There was a muffled cry on the other end of the receiver. "I don't think I can stand it…you've got me down on my knees and I'm licking the water that's dripping off your balls and sucking it off your thighs…and something else is dripping for me, isn't it?"  
"Y-yeahhhhh….fuck, yeah…"  
"And you see me at your feet in the shower, and I'm begging for it—begging for a taste of it…and your cock is so hot and swollen and I want to lick every vein of it…I want to slip back your hood and let every drop just melt on my tongue…I'm sucking hard on the very tip, sucking your slit so I catch it all….and you can't stand it, can you? All this sucking…and licking…and my hands stroking your balls…you can't take being teased any more and it's driving you insane…and I knowwhatyou'regoingtodotome….rightnow.."  
The breathing in the receiver was harsh and punctuated with soft curses. Ed was dangerously close. Roy tightened his grip on his own cock and began to growl low and hot, pushing both of them nearer and nearer to the edge. "You're going to grab me by the hair, and you're going to jam your cock straight down my throat."  
Ed lost it.  
"Awwwfuuuuck….shit…yeah…suck it hard, goddamn you….shitOHGODDD…just like that…"  
"I wanna HEAR you," Roy snarled, and when Ed lowered the receiver down to his groin so that the soft, moist sound of a slicked cock plunging into a tightened fist reached Roy's ear the older man wailed out loud, spattering his chest and belly and chin with arc after arc of what felt like molten lava bursting from his loins.  
This had an electric effect on Edward, who yanked the phone back to his ear as soon as he realized what was happening. "Take it…take it all down…swallow it…FUCK! You're so goddamn good…awwwyeah….get your finger up my ass and fuck me…feels sooo….hhhnnggghhhh! Aiiiieeeeee! Ohhhh fuck….Roy…Roy,goddamnit-!"  
#  
In the Medical Supply room, Dr. Chen looked distressed. As soon as he realized what was being broadcast over the loudspeaker he began humming loudly under his breath so as not to violate the sacred privacy of his friends. It was good, he believed, that the two lovers would be able to relax after this over-the-phone interlude, but it was hardly something that merited sharing with the whole of Fort Briggs. He would find out who had done it and he would demand an explanation. "At least," he told himself, "they haven't yet opened those packages I brought them from Spenser's Emporium. That should have proved most awkward indeed.  
#  
In the mess hall, nobodymoved.  
Finally, one of the soldiers who had laughed the hardest lifted his coffee mug in earnest salute to the speaker that hung overhead. All the men assembled followed suit.  
#  
In her office, Olivier Mira Amrstrong had not even broken a sweat. She snapped off the P.A. system. She threw back a belt of whiskey. Her Corporal's face was beet red and dripping. "Take a walk outside and cool yourself down, she ordered.  
"Yes Ma'am!" he stammered, then marched straight to the guard tower-by way of the Men's Room."  
"Well, well. Roy Mustang." The Major General refilled her glass and grinned in a manner that would have made the Fuhrer very uneasy had he been present to see it. "That was quite a show of manly prowess. I'm almost impressed…."  
…TO BE CONTINUED….


	17. THOSE PARTICULAR FRIENDSHIPS PECULIAR TO GENTLEMEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward discovers to his horror that his private moments with Roy have become a public spectacle thanks to General Armstrong. He is equally horrified to learn who will be traveling with them to Stoltovgrad. And Edward learns of the unhealthy interest Zolf Kimblee harbored towards Roy and Maes....

THOSE PARTICULAR FRIENDSHIPS PECULIAR TO GENTLEMEN

"Alex—restrain him."

Edward Elric, crimson with rage and stuttering out curses like a machine gun locked on 'rapid fire', was hoisted off his boot heels and suspended like an exceedingly pissed off rag doll. "CALM YOURSELF, EDWARD ELRIC," Armstrong boomed soothingly. "IF YOU WILL SIMPLY STOP AND LISTEN TO REASON—"  
"Reason? REASON? I'll give you five good reasons why I should beat the crap out of the Motherfuckin' SNOWqueen over there for broadcasting my…my…for broadcasting my PRIVATE FUCKING CONVERSATION WITH MUSTANG!" He waved his hand in the Major General's face, folding back each finger for emphasis. "Reasons one-two—three—four-and FIVE! And I'm gonna deck your asses—singularly or collectively—as soon as I find out who the hell is responsible for this!"  
A fine deerskin glove smacked him smartly across the cheek. "Stop acting like a child, Edward," Olivier commanded. "The fact of the matter was it was an unfortunate technical mishap. The line run for your personalconvience is the same line I use for the comlink to communicate orders throughout the fort. Your conversation was to be monitored from my office only-"  
"WHAAAAT?" Ed's eyes grew wide and he struggled in Alex's vise-like grasp. "You mean you were planning on listening in on us anyway? What the fuck kind of commander are you?"  
The Major General stared down at him as if he were a smear of dog shit on her boot heel. "One that makes security her utmost concern. What you seem to keep forgetting, Edward, is that the man you are cohabiting with is the Fuhrer President of this country—the single most powerful and influential person in our nation, possibly in this world. What he does—even who he does it with—every moment of the dayaffectsthestabilityofthisnation. Amestris is my first priority. It should be Mustang's as well. He was the one insisting on a private line being immediately available. The only line that could be tapped in and wired to your room was the Commander's Emergency link from Central to my office—my office, she emphasized. "It is my responsibility to monitor all communications on that line. If it is appropriate to patch that channel into our switch and broadcast a message from Central Command it gets done. Last time that line was used was during the last national address, which was broadcast throughout the fort. Your lover," she spat the word out with contempt, "chose to use it for non-official business. That is his right—but it is my right to monitor that line as I see fit." She laid her hand on her sword. "I will take responsibility for this incident. I assure you that the last thing in the world I want is to be reminded of is Roy Mustang's inept fumblings in the bedroom."  
Edward's jaw dropped about a foot. "Huh?"  
#  
"Huh?"  
"That's what she said, Al. I'm not deaf and I'm not crazy."  
"The Fuh—Roy…and the Major General?"  
Ed nodded grimly. "Son of a bitch is more depraved than I gave him credit for. I'm not even sure I wanna know the gory details. Speaking of depraved and disgusting," he brightened, "is that asswipe from Aerugo still flat on his back in the infirmary? Guess he's gonna miss our flight in the morning—not that we could carry another person with us on the Xerxes….right?"  
Al began to fidget. If he'd been younger, Ed would have asked him if he needed to go potty. "What, goddamn it? What is it?"  
"Ahh…well, brother…ummm…you know I spoke with Roy too last night. It was before you…you know."  
"Yeah, I know. So does everybody else in the Fort, looks like. What's with you?"  
Ed was getting impatient and Al was looking guilty. Best to just get on with it. "I felt like I had to…you know…explain why Signor Bacalla had to have his nose splinted, and-Ed, hear me out!" His brother's fists began to clench up in a way that made Alphonse back off a few feet to protect his own handsome features. "He—well-didn't want there to be any 'international incidents' now that Signor Bacalla is officially representing Aerugo at Stoltovgrad this summer—"  
"-no he's not."  
"—no?"  
"Correction Al," Ed smiled grimly. "That's not a 'no'. That's a 'fuckin' HELL no'. There's no way that snide, beady eyed, smartassed shitlicker is gonna ruin our good times in Drachma at the dacha this summer! Ohhh, it's that back stabbing, conniving Claudio behind this! What—he's gonna try and kill US this time? Or maybe Czar Dimitri?" He slammed his fist against the wall and gritted his teeth. Why the hell was Mustang letting Bacalla join the party? What part of 'this scumbag is an assassin's right hand, damn it!' was Roy missing?  
Al sighed. Roy could have broken the news to Ed last night but Al suspected that it would have been the romantic equivalent of stuffing cracked ice down the front of brother's pants. Thank you, Sir. Leave it to me to do your dirty work. "We've got our orders, and the Major General is going to make sure we comply. I've had to recalculate our lift equations to compensate for two more passengers-well, four, since Mr. Armstrong would probably count as—"  
Ed's pupils contracted n horror. His tanned cheeks blanched and he stood there blinking as if he'd just been hit between the eyes with a ball peen hammer. He sat down abruptly. "Uhhhh….huh?"  
"-but I don't think we'll be much behind schedule. Roy has sent a telegram a head to Stoltovgrad to let them know that two more instructors will be arriving with the delegation-"  
His head was buzzing now. He'd felt that same queerness the first time he'd gulped down too much hard cider at a pub a few years ago. It felt a lot like having one's head wrapped in warm, fuzzy flannel before being bludgeoned with a sack of rocks.

Bacalla…and Armstrong….teaching at Stoltovgrad? He managed to shape some half-strangled words, some kind of inquiry about exactly what the fuck they were going to be instructing the Drachman students, since, as far as Edward knew Alex was best at smashing the hell out of things and Bacalla was best at being an anal excruciation.  
Al brightened innocently. "Ah, I believe they're part of the whole liberal arts program that Prince Claudio was so emphatic about. Bacalla—I guess we ought to call him Pio now, since we'll be living and working with him all summer—I think he's told Roy he'll teach culinary arts and Mr. Armstrong is going to teach….lemme check my notes here…oh, yes, he's teaching sculpting…"  
The eyes that gazed up at Alphonse Elric could not have been more pathetic than if Edward had been a half-drowned kitten with a broken paw crawling into a candle-lit shrine of Leto on a stormy night. "Oh, don't worry, brother," Al soothed his sibling. "I'm sure we'll all get along wonderfully! Mr. Armstrong can help you build your glider, and Pio….well, I'm sure we'll find a way to work things out."  
"Shoot me."  
"ED!"  
#  
"Have you given my…prescription…to your brother yet?"   
Dr. Chen was sorting through the pile of mail Ruby had delivered the previous night. There was a missive from Emperor Ling to be delivered to Czar Dimitri, a greeting of friendship, extending an invitation for the Czar and Czarina to visit next year. Dr. Chen thought this was a good thing and welcomed the idea of international cooperation, as Mustang-sama called it. An identical letter was addressed to the Aerugoan envoy, however he had just finished up stuffing great wads of clean gauze up the Castellan's flattened nostrils and the younger man had been exacting and precise in his threats about what would happen if Xingese doctor was not able to return Bacalla's nose to its former glory. It hardly seemed the opportune moment to broach the subject of international good will.

Ah, the 'prescription'. An unorthodox but effective treatment for maladies of the spirit. He suspected that Mustang-sama might be more amenable to following Chen's advice than Edward-sama. Alphonse-sama hadn't any qualms about obtaining the therapeutic items from Spenser's Emporium, a once-elegant Gilded Age storefront open 'evenings and by appointment'. A brief but enlightening conversation with the honorable Madame Mustang-sama had assured him that the soft spoken, well mannered Mr, Spenser would be able to provide exactly what the good doctor had ordered.

Alphonse-sama's large, lustrous eyes had grown even wider when he'd consulted the shopping list. "I do get to tell brother this wasn't my idea, right?" he'd asked nervously, but he'd gotten Havoc-san to drive him into the city and had returned with two brown paper parcels which he'd handed over to Dr. Chen. The Xingian healer had inspected the contents, nodded with approval and then packed them into the sort of elegant carved rosewood boxes that generals and Parliament members kept fine cigars in on their desks. Each had a brass combination lock that was set to 2869—an in-joke of Al-sama's—and then packed away. "When should I-?"  
"I'll let you know when to present your brother with his box. His Excellency will have received his from Dr. Knox after our departure. I will trust it to his good judgment to know when to prescribe his own…treatment."  
"In view of last night's unfortunate broadcast and his distress over our new travel companions, I would suggest giving the box to your brother before we leave for Drachma. And, of course, the notebook Ruby-sama has carried to him from Central."  
Al flushed right up to his eyebrows. "I don't know how he will react, Chen-sama."  
Chen's expression was serene, betraying nothing. "If he tells you to, as they say, 'shove it', let me know if you need help extracting anything you can't comfortably reach."  
#  
"Sir?"   
Mustang ranged a 'sir' from Ruby. Ed got a 'boss'. Al tended to get an inviting smile and a greeting half a seductive octave lower than Ruby's normal voice. The voice on the other end of the phone was brisk and mildly irritated. "What do you mean Al hit him?"  
"He was being, well…he was being Bacalla, sir. You've read the reports. You know what I mean."  
There was a low muttering on the other end of the line and a shuffling of papers. "All right, I'm not saying he didn't aggravate the situation. But the Elrics have to remember that he is a representative of another nation. This is no time for Edward and Alphonse to put at risk everything I'm trying to accomplish just because they have a low tolerance for boorish behavior. So Armstrong has agreed?"  
"Yes sir—and Dr. Chen says that he thinks he can fit in the balloon as long as he doesn't jump around too much. It's not a long flight after they get over the mountains."  
"Hopefully he will prove a deterrent to testy behavior. I'm sticking my neck out a mile on this. Prince Claudio's change of heart is more than a little suspect, but if we can demonstrate that Amestris can work well with others we may have a chance after all. Now," his tone softened a fraction, "you gave the journal to Edward?"  
"Seals intact. He even thanked me for it. He's got letters for you and for his children—I can bring them back—"  
"You're not coming back, Ruby. You're heading to Stoltovgrad. You'll be billeted to the guest's barracks at the military outpost, along with Kain Fuery. He'll be there in a week. "  
"Sir?"  
"Colonel Hawkeye's orders have been forwarded to Brigg's command. As long as Ed and Al are in Drachma, I want you close enough to keep an eye on them."  
"Ah…um…yessir." With all due respect, SIR, I'd rather clean the shitters on my knees with my toothbrush.  
The voice became low and persuasive. "I'll make it up to you, Ruby. You know I can…I've always known how to please a woman…."  
Pause. "I'm listening."  
"Three weeks furlough in some place warm and sunny, Sheska has some brochures around here, somewhere."  
"Make it a full month—and throw in the use of a staff car and you've got a deal."  
"You can take the motorcycle. I'll throw in a 500.00 cens per diem."  
Cheapbastard."Okay…I'll do it. But she added more sharply than she intended,—I wanna see those brochures on my desk as soon as get out of this frozen hellhole."  
"Consider it done."  
#  
"What the fuck is this?"

It had been easy enough to open the sealed journal Roy had sent him. It was the same combination used on the "Owner's Manual" books they both owned that were stuffed personal photos, notes and small remembrances of places and events that could make Ed's dick hard just thinking about them. Like the cleaned piece of foil wrapping that said 'BUTTER', from the kitchen at Aunt Chris's restaurant. The butter itself had long since melted in a place dairy products are seldom introduced to, churned by something a lot hotter than the dairyman's paddle. Photos tender and photos erotic and pressed grape leaves from the vineyard they'd fucked in one night in Aerugo, moments before the farmer had set his dogs on them.  
Ed would snort with derision at the slightest suggestion that he was sentimental. "Like hell!" he'd tell anyone who'd listen. "I'm the guy who burned his own house down, you know?" And he was also the guy who Izumi had caught singing Tricia's lullabies softly to his children when he didn't think anyone could hear him, and Alphonse knew for a fact Ed carried a much refolded letter from Roy inside the breast pocket of his waistcoat.

Whatever the faded, stained pamphlet was from, Ed guessed, it was significant enough for Roy to have kept it for years. He scanned the cover and recognized it as some sort of military training document—what Havoc had called 'hygiene books' when he handed a stack of them to the fifteen year old Fullmetal Alchemist. They were about a lot of boring shit, as Ed recalled, including grooming guides, fitness manuals and one referred to as 'the white glove manual' about how erections were normal and that the army expected young men to handle their hard-ons discreetly and efficiently in private so they would not be distracted on duty. Ed had signed off on that little missive without even flipping through it. If Al couldn't whack off, he reasoned, neither should he. Consequently Ed had developed a habit in those traveling years of stripping the bed and hauling away the sheets as soon as he rose, inwardly hoping his brother never noticed any of the suspicious stains from the inevitable wet dreams.

This green booklet dated back from the 1880's. It was yellowed and slightly brittle and bore the title Cadet Morale and Deportment:Your Place in the State Military vol 6. "Now, why would Roy send me this old—waitaminute…whatthehell…?" He'd thumbed the pamphlet open and flyleaf copy startled him. Chaplain's Office—Do Not Remove. The subject of volume 6 made him immediately uneasy. Particular Friendships Peculiar to Gentlemen: Fraternization and its Consequences . Ed noticed there was a penciled in note in a fine hand he did not recognize:

"You might want to read this carefully and consider the consequences of your 'extracurricular activities'. I'll be glad to counsel you if you need further clarification."  
-ZJK

Jammed in the middle of the pamphlet was a demerit citation, It was written out in the same elegant hand, citing Maes Hughes and Roy Mustang for being caught by the platoon night watch in the barracks kitchen 'making sandwiches'. Both boys returned to their respective dorm rooms without protest, it was noted, but there was an added comment that "Hughes is a disruptive prankster" and that he was a "less than laudable influence on Cadet Mustang". It was signed "Zolf J. Kimblee, Cadet Security Detail" and dated "13 March 1904",  
In the last letter, Roy had confided to Ed about his feelings for Roy and his surprise of returning from the holidays to find he had been reassigned to new quarters as Kimblee's roommate. A horrible suspicion was confirmed as Ed began to read the letter that accompanied the journal Roy had sent him…

 

Edward—  
If you are reading this, you have caught up with Ruby and she has given you the parcels and messages that were deemed too important to wait. You will understand, I'm sure, why I am including the newest pictures of your children and their great grandmother. Meeting the children out of your company was, in hindsight, a stroke of exceptional insight on Izumi and Pinako's part, even if it was a hell of a surprise to me. The children were able to form their own opinions of me upon the spot and I am gratified that they seem to have taken to me. I have had my schedule re-arranged so that I can spend quality time with them, especially in the evening. They are both exceptionally bright, good natured and affectionate, although Maes' endless curiosity and almost total lack of fear has given me a few gray hairs and even Sebastian has had to work at staying two steps ahead of your son. Nina loves nothing so much as curling up on my lap and being read to. She says little but observes much. I would say she takes after me in that respect but if I did you would never let me live it down.  
As soon as you get to Briggs I intend to shoo off your offspring and in-law and shut myself away privately so that I can say the kind of inflammatory things that the children would be better off not hearing. As for Pinako—after having a few drinks with that venerable soul I SERIOUSLY doubt there is anything I might want to do to you or with you that would shock her. IF you are reading this note "after"….well….know that whatever filthy, lewd, obscene, licentious and socially unacceptable acts I fantasized about performing upon your body over the phone were mild compared to what I intend to do next time I get you in my arms. Enough said.  
Also—I wanted to let you know that I have spoken with Gracia about Maes. She broached the subject, not I, but as Hawkeye was quick to remind me it was a talk—or attempt at talking—long overdue. She is, as you might guess, not altogether comfortable with the idea that Maes and I had feelings for one another, but when I answered her questions honestly she recognized, I think, that I have been grieving for the loss of the same man, just as I am beginning to realize that Elycia is all that remains of the man I once loved and that if I cared for him then I should care about her. She is spending time with Maes and Nina and through the children perhaps Gracia and I can find a common ground between us.  
I am trying, Edward. And you are helping more than you will ever know just letting me say these things that have gone unsaid for most of my life.

Now, to pick up where I left off with Kimblee. I can't think of anyone who would have been less welcome on the other side of the door when I returned to my room in the dorms my last semester in Officer Candidate's school. Switching roommates wasn't all that uncommon, but men who had found congenial roommates often listed that they would remain in the same quarters the following semester, as Maes and I had done. We'd filed the paperwork and there had been a lot of good-natured joshing around that the studious, serious Mustang was about the only one who could tolerate Maes with his horseplay and joking around and speeches about his Search For The Most Wonderful Woman In The World, for whom he would boldly live and die for. People noted our competitiveness and relentless drive to best one another in everything from grades and deportment to beer consumption and the ability to pee on the most distant of trees in the small wooded area where we bivouacked.

During our first Senior semester we were marched dutifully to hygiene lectures, which were never taken seriously. Oh, they showed us horrible pictures of what venereal disease would do to one's privates and we were required to write a paper on disease prevention that I managed to make as clinical and tedious as humanly possible. In one open question period, a classmate joked, "So where does homosexuality fit into around here?"  
The answer? "A body bag."  
That's when we first learned about 'fraternization'. Always thought that was a reference to officers interacting with the enlisted, but there was an aspect of fraternization that had seemed completely irrelevant to me before I fell in love with my roommate: the regulations forbidding sexual interaction or contact between soldiers. "I know I don't have to tell any of you soldiers not to double-bunk" our sergeant growled at us as we sat around the barracks one night. "This ain't Creta, where you separate the men from the boys with a pry-bar. Every son of a bitch in here is a red blooded Amestrian. We don't bend over for nobody! So I'll just sum it up and say you can polish your own bayonet, but if you polish anyone else's you're outta here. If you live long enough to get off post, that is. Or, he leered evilly, "they'll decide you're gonna be the platoon WIFE, and by the time your twenty best friends have done with you you'll be so stretched out you could shit beer cans and not feel it—and then you'll go home a disgrace, wearin' a bunch of lavender flowers pinned to your civvies and you'll never get a respectable person to hire you—and in the end you'll die of throat pox from making your living suckin' off guys in back alleys. So," he concluded, "have we got any COCKSUCKERS in this class?"  
"SIR! NO SIR!"  
"Good men!"  
And of course, Maes and I answered him with the same enthusiasm as the rest of our class. Of course the night before Maes had come back to our room with butterscotch ice cream topping which he had spread all over his cock and it took no coaxing at all for me to get down on my knees and lick him clean again. And Maes had enthusiastically returned the favor. It would not be the last time Maes was to lie in public with my taste still in his mouth and me still sore and wet from being pounded and filled to the brim.

But now we were separated and there was no doubt in my mind that Kimblee was watching us carefully, hoping we'd make a mistake, hoping he would be the one to catch us in the act of love.  
Snapshots of those days reveal nothing. I was good at schooling my expressions. I was cautious about showing any sign of missing Maes. We traded insults. He pounded me on the back and tackled me to the ground as he often did and I managed to give back as good as I got, but when we were wrestling around in a good natured sparring match it was an effort to force other thoughts to the back of my mind—thoughts about how we'd wrestled when we were alone at night and how now I spent my nights with a pair of keen black eyes following my every move. If I hadn't known better I would have misinterpreted Kimblee's attentions for desire and been sickened by it. As you would have undoubtedly put it, the only part of me Kimblee was interested in fucking with was my mind.  
"Hey!"  
"Spinach quiche is my favorite!" Maes had snatched my dinner off my tray and began to dig in as I glowered at him. "Here—you want my cabbage roll? It's not bad." He shoved his own plate at me and I shoved it back.  
"I'm tired of you eating my quiche, Hughes!"  
"I'm sure he's not tired of you eating his…cabbage roll….Mustang." Damn Kimblee. He looked cool and elegant in his freshly pressed uniform, sipping coffee with the air of a man who already envisioned command pips on his shoulderboards.  
Maes grinned at him. "You wanna eat my cabbage roll, Kimblee?"  
One of our table mates sniggered maliciously. "Pretty Boy Kimblee looks like the kind of man that could make a career out of eating cabbage rolls."  
Maes pretended to examine a spot on his water glass. "Too much of a choking hazard," he observed. "I'll stick to seafood…and this last slice of quiche that Roy so generously sacrificed so that I could have my favorite supper—"  
"I'm sure Mustang would NEVER object to you eating his…quiche. And if he does here those dark eyes locked onto mine,—you can make him a hot beef sandwich in the kitchen after everybody's gone to bed."  
"Sneaking food in the middle of the night? That's against the regs." Nothing in my voice betrayed the panic that began to churn in my guts at his double-edged taunt.  
Kimblee offered me a smile that was all ice and venom. "Young men have…uncontrollable appetites. And when the hunger becomes so strong they say damn the rules and take the risk. Just to satisfy a craving…let's hope they don't get caught."  
"I don't know what you're talking about," I shrugged, digging in to Maes' cabbage roll, my appetite completely gone for once.  
He'd seen us. No doubt about it. Wasn't sure how, but he'd seen us. The kitchen had been damn near perfect. The pantry, to be exact. A soft flour sack to cushion my knees or lift my hips, cooking oil or lard or butter to slick his girth—he was too large to take without it, really. And kitchen towels to tidy up with. Before leaving we'd share a sandwich or some filched cookies or whatever, slipping back to our respective rooms and nobody knew we'd been away. His roomie slept hard and mine-  
-mine was volunteering for night sentry duty. I hadn't even paid attention to the fact that he might walk in rounds beyond his assigned station.  
That night I found this pamphlet on my pillow. "What's this for?  
He smiled at me. He smiled the exact same way he smiled when he would go off to blow up another block of the Dahlia sector of Ishbal—as if duty and pleasure were combined in ways that satisfied the most perverse corners of his heart. "Make me a sandwich, Roy, and we'll discuss it…."  
TO BE CONTINUED….


	18. "GOING AWAY PRESENTS"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed smells a rat—an imported rat from Aerugo who may be trying to murder Olivier Armstrong. The boys from Drachma are threatened to be a good moral example to the Elrics—or else. And Roy and Ed receive a pair of mysterious boxes from Dr. Chen with contents that leave even Ed speechless.

"GOING AWAY PRESENTS"

"Gentlemen, be seated. I have a communiqué from President Mustang."  
Edward glanced around at the assembly. "Hey, where's Peehole?"  
"That's Pio, Ed-shhhhh!" Al gnawed nervously on his bottom lip, Ed had been…well…nice…since his initial reaction to Castellan Bacalla and Alex Armstrong joining the crew of the Xerxes. A little too nice. It made him anxious.  
Major General Armstrong frowned severely at the Elric brothers until they hushed before continuing. "It reads as follows:

 

'Gentlemen:  
On the eve of this historic occasion I wish to remind you that the pride of your respective nations and of the Alexandria Collegium goes with you. I am confident that each and every one of you will comport yourselves with dignity and respect for your host country.

'Your assigned curriculums will be as follows: Edward Elric—history and ethics of Alchemy. Alphonse Elric—introduction to practical alchemy. Kenichi Chen—introduction to Xingese Alkahestry and alchemic medicine. Alex Louis Armstrong—sculpture and fitness. Pio Bacalla-'  
The door flew open with a bang. "Aerugoan cuisine, the uses of culinary herbs…and flower arranging!" Bacalla proclaimed proudly as he burst through the door, a lowly private at his heels pushing a mess hall cart bearing a large covered serving tray.  
Olivier glared daggers at him. "What is the meaning of-"  
"-a good breakfast? Bloody little, if one is to interpret the uninspiring clots of yellowish matter semi-congealed on the plate as your morning repast-accompanied with leathery shingles and strips of what appear to be the leftover bits of leather used in the manufacture of snow boots, Whereas I, Madame, will now present you with a feast fit for a lady of your rank and nobility. Behold!" Sweeping the dented steel cover off the platter he gestured grandly at the breakfast he had prepared for her.  
Ed's nose twitched. Saliva began to swamp his tongue and he cursed his stomach for growling in appreciation. Even his mother had never managed to whip up an omelet this high and fluffy, oozing with melted cheese and spiked with what smelled like fresh chives and some herbs Ed couldn't identify. It was crowned with freshly chopped tomatoes and a sprig of parsley. Accompanying the omelet was a mountain of golden fried potatoes with onions and peppers and slices of fresh orange shaped like flowers. But what was most appetizing of all was the side dish of extra crispy bacon—combined with the fragrant steam rising from a carafe of what had to be coffee from Roy's private supplier, it was all Ed could do not to snatch the plate and run off and gorge himself with the Major General's breakfast-  
-except that it might be poisoned.  
Ed lunged forward and swept the feast to the floor. Bacalla's eyes burned hotter than the tiny alcohol lamps that had kept the dishes warm. "You….you…cur! How DARE you!"  
"How dare YOU try to poi-AL! Lemme go! What the hell-?" Alphonse grabbed his brother by the shoulders and physically dragged him out through the door.  
"Sorry, General," he called, laughing nervously. "Castellan—there's….a mouse…Ed, you missed him—go get a broom. I'll….I'll see if he's…oh…I think he ran under the desk, General!"  
"A MOUSE?" Alex boomed. "A MOUSE DARED TO TASTE THE DIVINE CUISINE OF CASTELLAN BACALLA BEFORE MY SISTER? THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE!" Hoisting his sister's desk over his head, he searched frantically for the mythical rodent. "COME OUT, YOU MISERABLE LITTLE BEAST! OR DO YOU COWER WITH FEAR BEFORE THE MAGNIFICENCE OF MY EXTRAORDINARY BICEPS? "  
"Al! What the hell—"  
"Ed, I…I know you think Pio's the one who went after Roy…but please…please…I'm begging you…don't cause a scene around here!"  
Ed punched him hard in the arm. "You wanna just stand there and watch him try to murder her too? I can't believe you!"  
"Like he'd do it in front of all of us?" Al shot back hotly. "Get a grip, Ed!"  
"He tried to kill my lov—my…my…he tried to kill Roy!"  
"You don't have proof!"  
"I'll get proof, goddamn it—with or without your help, understand?"  
His brother stalked off angrily, leaving Alphonse to clean up the mess and apologize—and not for the first time.  
#  
"I bet you fifty rubles that our friend Alphonse will not fall for your foolishness about the devotchka hunt." Maxim Petrovsky gathered up his cards and frowned. "Alexi, what is this handful of govno(shit) you've dealt me? You're a cheating mudak (bastard)!  
"Poshyol-ty (fuck you), comrade—you shuffled the cards. I just dealt the hands, is all." Alexi Andreivitch ruffled his sandy curls and grinned innocently at his old roommate from their freshman days at Stoltovgrad University.  
"If you are calling me a cheating mudak, Alexi," Maxim threatened darkly "you can sosimoihui,sooka (suck my dick, you whore). Hey! Who drank the last of the beer?""  
"I have no idea." Alexi looked innocent, then belched loudly. "This Amestrian piss-water reminds me of Pyotir and Nicholai out in the rowboat on Lake Baikal last summer."  
"Oh?"  
"Da. Fucking close to water." He heaved the empty bottle of Stray Dog Lager across the room, aiming for Maxim's head and instead it shattered against the mantelpiece.  
"Not funny," Pyotir sniffed with an offended air. "And you can clean up the mess or I'll sweep up the broken bits of glass and dump them in that rubber piz-dah (pussy) you keep humping and moaning over when you think the rest of us are asleep and you'll end up all circumcised like some Cretan golubaya-bl'yad (rent boy)"  
"You would know, suka (scumbag). Come over here and bend over. Can't find the bottle opener so I'll use your zhopa (asshole)—no wait! Nicholai's in port, yes? Then you've been stretched too wide to be of any use!"

The door to their study slammed open and an imposing, shaven-headed man stalked in, eyeing the trio with disgust. Alexi hastily shoved his cigar behind a sofa cushion while Maxim dumped a full glass of vodka into Pyotir's aquarium. Pyotir slammed his book shut and gave his roommates a poisonous glare before rising and bowing respectfully to their visitor. "Professor Lobachevsky! Good evening! Were we his pale blue eyes fixed on Maxim and Alexi "making too much noise, sir?"  
"Ah, and what is this?" Lobachevsky shifted his boot. Glass fragments crunched audibly "Broken glass? Cigar smoke—Alexi, you idiot, you're setting my sofa on fire!"  
"Sorry, sir!" The offending stogie was snuffed out in Pyotir's glass of hot tea, which was then poured over the smoldering patch of upholstery.  
"What is it with you three?" the Dean growled. "The most brilliant minds in the whole of this university—chosen by President Mustang and Czar Dimitri to represent our country as part of the Alexandria Collegium at Stoltovgrad-and every time I turn my back and leave you unsupervised you are behaving like little bad children-not you, Pyotir-"  
"—you prissy-assed sukya(scumbag)—" Alexi hissed. "Why don't you get your nose out of -OWWWWW!" A bony set of knuckles cracked across the top of his head.  
"None of that. Alexi, you're drunk. Pyotir, stop being an ass. Maxim, if I catch you cheating at cards one more time I will be sorely tempted to audit your recent research notes to see if you've been lifting bits of your papers from the work of foreign scientists. Now then!" Lobachevsky smacked his palms together for emphasis." Our guests for the summer will be departing Fort Briggs in less than 12 hours. You will clean up, sober up, study your briefings and when the Xerxes lands you will be on your best behavior or you will explain yourselves to the Czar-and the Czarina.  
"Ekaterina!" The name produced shudders all around. Plump, lovely, utterly charming…with absolutely no patience for misbehavior. "Chȅrt vos-mi! She'll have us chiseling out shit-cicles from the privies on the Steppes!" Maxim yelped, suddenly terrified. Rumor had it that when a distinguished physicist was found with vodka on his breath in the classroom that Ekaterina strode into the professor's class, ordered him to bend over the lab bench and paddled him soundly with a hairbrush she'd retrieved from her handbag, shouting that if he dared behave like a child she would damned well treat him like one.  
"The honorable Dr. Chen," Lobachevsky intoned solemnly, "is a mature man and a well respected scientist, alchemist and physician. Signor Bacalla, the Aerugoan envoy who will be joining up with them in Briggs, is Castellan to the Prince Regent Claudio Rufo. And from what I understand the Elric brothers are the two most respected authorities on alchemy in the whole of Amestris, not to mention the younger brother is an aeronaut of some renown. If you disgrace yourselves, you disgrace me. If you disgrace me, you disgrace Stoltovgrad. And if you dare disgrace Stoltovgrad, the Czarina will be MOST displeased with you. Do I make myself clear?"  
"Da!"  
#  
If Ed could have seen his own reflection he would have recognized the obstinate scowl as the same one Maes would make when facing down a glass of fresh milk. Dr. Chen found him sitting alone on his bunk, door ajar as if waiting for his kid brother to come in and apologize for not allowing Ed to announce to everyone that Bacalla was the man who'd nearly assassinated the Fuhrer. Something needed to be done to jar Edward out of his foul mood before takeoff and Dr. Chen had a pretty good idea what would do the trick. "Edward-sama? Excuse me. There is something I need to give to you."  
"Peehole's head on a platter. That would do me just fine."  
"This is a special prescription I have for you and for Roy-sama. I have had Dr. Knox present Roy-sama's….treatment…and so now I am giving this to you. It will help."  
Blond brows knitted in confusion. "Huh? I don't need medicine. I'm not sick."  
"This is," Chen qualified, "how you say, 'preventative treatment'. To be taken when needed. You may take your treatment at the same time as Roy-sama and it would be most beneficial."  
The polished wooden box was handed over. "Your brother suggested I set the combination the same as your private journal."  
"Fuck! How the hell does he know that!"  
"Roy-sama told him."  
Ed rolled his eyes. "Goddamn, is there anything about my sex life my brother doesn't know about?"  
Chin smiled. "Not after last night. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll…." He gestured towards the door.  
"Hey! Wait a minute! What am I supposed to do with…HOLY SHIIIIIIIIT!"  
He glanced at the contents of the open box. He closed it. He waited a few minutes, then opened it again. He slammed it shut, locked it and searched around desperately for a place to dispose of the contents. He panicked when he realized that there was no place to hide the contents that would not be found—and most likely identified as Edward's.  
Cursing aloud, he shoved the elegant box into his duffle bag, flung it over his shoulder and hurried to the Xerxes where he dumped it at Alex Armstrong's feet. "Here's-my-stuff-just-load-it-up-and-when-we're-ready-to-take-off-just-have-somebody-come-and-get-me," he mumbled, taking pains to avoid the strongman's eyes.

He was halfway back to the gate when the Strong Arm Alchemist bellowed after him. "EDWARD ELRIC! I REGRET TO SAY THAT I WAS NOT ABLE TO APPREHEND THE MOUSE THAT WAS TRYING TO BEFOUL MY SISTER'S BREAKFAST! I HAVE ORDERED THE SETTING OF SEVERAL HUNDRED NEW TRAPS AROUND THE FORT AS A PRECAUTION. HE WON'T GET AWAY, I PROMISE YOU!"  
He waved back. "Thanks, Major! Now," he griped under his breath, "I just need to set a trap for a rat. A big, beady-eyed, long nosed, imported He stopped short, finding himself face to face with Bacalla as the Aerugoan was carrying out his leather valise to the airship.—rat."  
"I suppose I ought to thank you for sparing me the humiliation of serving Our Lady of Briggs 'omelet del mouse con I pomodori freschi'. I ought to—but apologies leave the most dreadful aftertaste in my mouth. Excuse me."  
"Fuck you."  
"I'm afraid I shall have to decline. I don't stand in line for anything."  
#  
Gracia didn't quite know what to tell her daughter. "Honey, you know how everybody is born a little bit different, right?"  
"Uh huh."  
She bit her lip. She wanted to be so careful, to explain things in such a way that did not make Elycia feel inferior nor portray her new friends in a freakish light. "Some have blue eyes. Some have brown skin or freckles…right?" Her daughter nodded, half listening as she handed Nina a purple crayon. "Well, sweetie, there are some people who learn things very, very fast—even faster than a grownup. They may not learn everything fast, but at some things they just…well…they're very, very good and they start doing some things earlier than other kids. They are called prodigies."  
"Progidies?"  
"Prodigies", her mother gently corrected. "It means a child who learns some things before other children and becomes very, very good at it. Alphonse and Edward were prodigies. They were learning alchemy when they were your age. And Miss Winry was a prodigy too. She learned how to build things and make machines from her father and grandmother when she was watching them as a little girl. And now," Gracia smiled towards the little brunette who was staring at the crayon and trying to decide whether to eat it or rub it on the paper that Elycia had given her, "we know that little Nina is one too, and Maes may be one as well. That's probably because their mommy and daddy were both prodigies."  
Elycia considered this carefully. "So…they're special."  
"Yes, honey. They are."  
"Oh. Okay." Elycia turned her attention to Nina and gently removed the crayon from the little girl's mouth. "That's not to eat, Nina. That's to write letters with. I'll show you how." Neatly the older girl wrote 'C-A-T" and "K-A-T" on the notebook paper. "Which one spells cat , Nina?"  
"SeeAyTee CAT!"  
"That's right! You're really smart, Nina!"  
"I knowed."  
"Now write it like I did."  
"Honey," Gracia interceded, "her little hands aren't able to handle the crayon well enough to write. I'll get us some finger paints and you can show her tomorrow. Does that sound like fun?"  
"She can't write?" Her daughter looked confused. "If she's a prodigy, she can."  
"Sweetie, it takes a lot of practice to learn how to write with a crayon or pencil. She'll learn. Maes is only just She glanced around. Maes had drawn a picture of a circle with scribbles running through it and was gleeflully slapping it with his hands. For one horrible moment she thought he knew what he was doing.-only just learning to draw a little. Give them time and they'll learn a lot from you, okay?"  
"Okay, Mommy."  
"And one thing more, honey. We don't treat prodigies like they are different, okay? We treat them like all our other friends so we don't make them feel bad."  
'Okay."  
'Now would you be an angel and go get Mommy a clean handkerchief? Looks like somebody," she nodded to Maes, has still got some chocolate on his chin after snack time."  
Gracia didn't see the wistful expression on her daughter's face as she watched her mother wiping the little boy's face.  
"Wish I was special too."  
#  
"And how is your granddaughter, Signora Pinako? Is she enjoying her work in Rush Valley?" Faust topped up Pinako's cappuccino with a splash of hazelnut liqueur then leaned forward to light her pipe for her.  
The old woman nodded. "She's doing well, Faust. In fact she's got company from back home this week."  
"Ah?"  
"Boy she grew up with—boy named Pitt. Knew his dad. Fine doctor, and the boy's following in his old man's footsteps. Turned up in Rush Valley and asked her to dinner to talk over old times. Seems he's staying on longer and hanging around the automail studio and interviewing the prosthesis patients. She's pretty impressed at how well he's getting on with her customers. "  
"A nice young man? That's good…very good. Every lady should have a nice young man who appreciates her talents." He laid his hand over Pinako's. "Did I ever show you my left toe? I had it replaced after an accident on my papa's fishing boat. Big shark tried to jump over the boat and landed mid-way across the deck. Bastard bit right through my boot. So big he was, Papa sold him at the fish market and made enough to buy me an automail replacement."  
"A likely story!"  
"Is truth!" Faust smoothed his mustache and grinned at her. "The liver of the shark, how you say, good for man. So he can please the woman, no? That is why old Faust will never be old. I may have snow on the top of the mountain, he tapped the top of his head, but down in the valley it is spring forever!"  
Pinako snorted in disbelief. "That's a whopper!"  
"So I have been told, Signora. So I have been told!" His hand dropped under the table and landed on her meaty thigh. She stared at him, Then she slowly thrust the stem of her pipe between her closed lips.  
#  
"I don't believe this crap." Dr. Owen Knox stared at the polished rosewood box with disgust. It had been sitting on his desk since Dr. Chen's departure. He had absolutely no intention of delivering the box to the Fuhrer. Whatever alchemic thingamagig he'd gotten for Mustang was probably worse than useless.  
"Well?" His Excellency opened the office door without knocking, Hawkeye and Havoc right on his heels. "Dr. Chen said you wanted to see me about some therapies…? I assure you, I haven't coughed in weeks. No need for further treatment."  
Knox lit a cigarette. "Damned if I know. And damned if you need it, although if you're smart you'll keep up with those inhalation treatments for awhile yet."  
"I'm fine, Knox."  
"Well," he grumped, "apparently Chen doesn't think so. Probably one of those new-fangled electric asthma nebulizers Alphonse was working on. Kid's got this whole hare-brained idea about some sort of compact dry cell battery that he thinks could be used on medical equipment."  
"And for toys," Roy nodded. "He's got the idea about making mechanical toys that run on a small alchemically enhanced dry cell. He's got Winry tinkering on it in her spare time. Calls the prototype the Alchemic Toy Dry Cell—AlToyD, for short. Colonel Hawkeye thinks it could be useful as a small power source for soldiers in the field, so I've approved funding."  
"AlToyD? Stupid name. Stupid idea."  
"Now, now, let's not sell Alphonse short. Anyway, that must be the box Dr. Chen said he'd left for me. May I?"  
"Wait, sir! It might be safer if Havoc and I open it first—just to be certain it hasn't been tampered with."  
Roy shook his head. "C'mon, Hawkeye—don't you think you're going overboard? This came from Chen, after all."  
Havoc made a cautioning gesture. "She's right, Chief. No harm in letting us check it out, first. What's the combination?"  
"It's 2869."  
"Gotcha." Approaching the desk, Hawkeye gestured for Knox and Mustang to step back. She thumbed the combination and lifted the lid.  
She slammed it shut and dropped it to the desk. Havoc snatched it up. "What the hell?"  
He opened the box and studied the contents. His ears turned pink.  
"Wellllll….that's something you don't see every day…."  
TO BE CONTINUED


	19. "THIS BRIEF INTERLUDE OF TRANQULITY…"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elycia’s tea at the palace is interrupted by a national security crisis and Roy’s Kitchen Cabinet learns from Dr Knox that Roy’s illness in Aerugo was not an accident. Meanwhile Alphonse and his airship make a…memorable…arrival in Drachma…

"THIS BRIEF INTERLUDE OF TRANQULITY…"

He was familiar and not familiar to her. That made her shy and a little uncomfortable around him.  
She'd seen him in the picture with Daddy when Daddy didn't have his tickle-whiskers. He looked serious, maybe a little stern , while Daddy was being silly and doffing his cadet's cap.

She'd seen the grand parades the day he became the President. It had been a warm spring morning and everybody was let of school for the day and there were people throwing flower petals out of their windows and cheering as the new President rode in an open car through the streets of Central, sitting up very straight and saluting the crowd. Afterwards Mommy had taken her to the park where there were fireworks and bands playing and she bit into a red taffy apple and pulled out one of her front teeth and got a whole twenty-five cens tooth money and Mommy put it away in her jewelry box. And when she went to school the next day President Grumman's picture was replaced by the handsome younger man with his hair slicked back and his face all stern and serious. She stared up at that face every morning from then on when they stood before the green and white Dragon Flag and sang the national anthem—not that the words really meant anything to them. He was handsome but he didn't smile often in pictures and he confused her.

When she had spent the afternoon with Mommy at the Palace—the day Mommy had come back all red faced like she had been crying—he had been very gentle and kind to her and addressed her almost like she was a grown up or a princess or something. Mommy had told her that now that Maes and Nina were in Central she would be invited to play at the Palace often. This morning Mommy had helped her tie on her best hair ribbons and a pretty, crinkly petticoat under her sky blue second best dress. Her socks had ruffles on the cuffs and her shoes shone like glass. Mommy had let the nice Miss Riza and Mr. Jean come and collect her, with a promise that they would stop at Il Gattina's and pick up some treats for their afternoon tea with Uncle Roy and Granny Pinako.

She was wiggling with anticipation, a tiny bit scared, when the great black car pulled up in front of Rose Hill, the Presidential Palace. The tall, skinny man in black that always wore such neat white gloves, Sebastian the Butler, opened the car door and offered her his hand. "Good afternoon, Miss Elycia. We are delighted to have you over for tea." He guided her to a pretty stone bench and then politely asked if she would wait a moment, since he needed to speak to Colonel Hawkeye. The two of them spoke in soft murmurs, then glanced over their shoulders at her. "Dr. Pinako is out of the city this afternoon, and we have to escort the Fuhrer to an emergency security council session. I suppose we'll have to just drive her back—"  
"—hang on, I've got an idea," Havoc chimed in. "Lemme make a quick call—be right back."  
Miss Riza knelt down and took her hand. "I'm sorry, Elycia, but it looks like something has come up and we may have to go back to your house. It's a shame, since you look very pretty."  
"Yes, Miss Riza. I don't want to be any bother."  
Hawkeye smiled gently at the child. "I don't believe you could ever be a bother to anyone, Elycia, and I know Maes and Nina will be very glad to see you when you come again."  
She had slipped back into the car and arranged her skirts so they wouldn't become all wrinkled when Mr. Havoc hurried back. "She'll be here in ten minutes!"  
"Who?"  
Havoc winked at Elycia. "I got us a sitter."

Ten minutes later she was staring up at a huge woman in a low necked dress with a mole on her face and a cigarette dangling from her bottom lip. The old woman stared at her for a long time. Then she planted her fists on her meaty hips, threw back her head and laughed loudly. Elycia jumped a foot and might have shied away except the woman winked broadly at her. "Scary old broad, ain't I? I know, kid—but I'm not as mean as I look, and that's sayin' a lot. I'm Roy's Aunt Chris—and you must be Maes' little girl." A plump bejeweled hand with long crimson nails was offered to her. "C'mon, kid. Let's fish that little Elric hellion out of his mud puddle out back and see if he can eat cake without sticking it in his ears."  
#  
"You're sick"  
"I bet your pardon, Ed-sama?"  
Edward just shook his head, trying very hard not to think about the contents of that little rosewood box with the brass lock, brocade lining and the…thing…inside it. Well, things. There were two of them. No, wait-there'd been something else tucked in between them that appeared to be made of jade. He didn't know for sure and was frankly scared to find out "My brother put you up to this."  
Chen-san shook his head gravely. "You are mistaken, Ed-sama. Although your brother is greatly concerned about your well being and happiness, this was not his suggestion.  
"Really? Tell me, Is this kind of thing common in Xing? I mean, Al told me about that harem girl Jiao Lan—"  
Dr. Chen nodded,—yes, Jiao Lan, very skilled. Great favorite with the Emperor."  
"Yeah, I heard all about her and her little ivory thingamajig. You mean she uses that on Ling too? Damn…that's….kind of…echhhhhhhh.." He made a face like a cat who had just licked something foul out of its fur.  
"The strong eel visits many caves and grottos in its lifetime," Chen replied benevolently. "Even yours, Edward-sama. In my country it is no shame associated with pleasure or contenting oneself when away from one's heart's desire. Perhaps you have heard of the Xingese 'pillow books'?"  
He hadn't, although there were those unforgettable books that Aunt Chris had given him in the hospital that made him blush . For You—For Him—and For Us:A Handbook For Men And The Men Who Love Them. It was the same copy she'd given Roy when he was a cadet and had admitted to his aunt that he was in love with his roommate. Everything Ed wanted and needed to know about man-to-man intimacy was in that volume, and the illustrations could still make him hard when he allowed himself to think about them. "Seen something like 'em, yeah," he muttered, tanned cheeks burning, unable to meet the older man's compassionate gaze.  
"You are called in your heart to wander, Edward-sama. Roy-sama is called to stay and serve Amestris. Who knows where your journey will carry you? But you are leaving your heart behind in Central, as they say. You have not yet felt the yearning because you have not been apart that long. It will be painful—it will be most difficult to bear at times."  
Like the pain of turning my back on a pile of smoldering timbers. Like the ache of walking away from a freshly dug grave and knowing she'll never hold me tight and sing me to sleep ever again. "You don't know what I don't understand." His voice was low and bitter.  
"Forgive me, but this pain is different than the loss of home and hearth. It is the pain of following your heart's calling at the sacrifice of what makes life worth living. Your family. Your mate. You did not feel this before. If I am understanding you—and I beg you forgive my impertinence—you are feeling the first brush of that loss. From time immemorial , lovers separated by distance have had to choose—do they burn and suffer? Do they use strangers to quench the yearning? Or do they find ways to assuage the desire and remain faithful to one another? In my culture we accept this, and prepare for that longing and know that to give peace to the body and mind is to heal oneself and to insure that we do not jeopardize those bonds of the heart by acting rashly out of the overwhelming loneliness."

The Amestrian's insides squirmed at the thought. It hadn't ever bothered him before, had it? He'd missed the kids, true. He'd wrestled with the awful pangs of knowing he would never see his mother's smiling face, framed with soft brown hair that tumbled over her shoulders, peeking out and waving from the kitchen window as he thundered up the dirt path to their whitewashed farm house. When he was honest with himself, he even missed the old days before Winry's outburst of emotion at the train station that lead them both down a path that eventually tore them apart as friends and family. It was so good to have a friend like her—a sister, someone he could trust with the whole of his heart. That companionship and closeness was a loss that he would regret the rest of his days.

And now there was something new and uncomfortable stirring in his breast. He didn't like it. It bothered him that it was hard to sleep without flipping thru the Owner's Manual and looking at the pictures of himself and that bastard that had weaseled his way into Ed's life and wrapped him up and made Edward read those coded letters over and over in his free time. And yes, he was loathe to admit it, he would catch himself thinking about the passages of Roy and Maes together and fantasize that it was himself that was bursting into Roy's mouth or panting and wrestling with him in the dark.  
Intellectually he knew Chen was being a concerned healer and, moreover, a concerned friend. He wanted to lash out at the Xingese alchemist, to throw a punch or shout or stomp off in a fit of offended fury…like some pissed off little kid caught jerking off or wetting the bed. And I'm not af uckin' kid any more.  
He sighed in resignation, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping angrily at his friend. "Okay. I'll think about it." He slapped Chen lightly on the shoulder. "You mean well. I….mean…uh…okay. Thanks…I guess…."  
Chen smiled broadly. "You are most welcome, Edward-sama." Grabbing a guy line to steady himself, Chen mounted the small wooden steps and climbed over the lip of the gondola, dropping lightly to the deck of the Xerxes. He offered Edward a hand up but the younger man shook his head, vaulting easily over the handrail. Ed gathered up his duffle bag and hauled it over to the forward cargo area where tarpaulins would keep their belongings safe from the weather.  
Over his shoulder, Ed heard his friend call back to him. "Edward-sama?"  
"Yeah?"  
"You will be most gratified to learn what skilled alchemists can craft with vulcanized rubber combined with silicone polymers!"  
Ed cringed.  
#  
The 'kitchen cabinet' of the Mustang administration had gathered in the west wing of Rose Hill. "We wanted this meeting to be informal," Heymans Breda explained, "because calling an emergency session of Parliament will get the press sniffing like a bunch of vultures at a time when we really don't need the aggravation."  
At the head of the table Roy steepled his hands under his chin, studying the faces that surrounded him. Hawkeye, his right hand and Chief of Security. Havoc, who in turn was Hawkeye's right hand and who coordinated the Presidential guard detail. Sebastian Corby, Black Ops specialist in charge of Palace security under the guise of Majordomo of the Household. Heymans Breda, Chief Strategy Officer-a posting that suited his keen intelligence. Charlie Bretangno, Intelligence Officer whom Roy had met when he'd invited Roy to join him in a drink the day the Ishballan war had ended and had fought by his side on the Promised Day. Owen Knox, personal physician and Surgeon General. And Sheska over in the corner, taking down every word as Presidential Secretary. A good team. The best there was, augmented by Vato Falman undercover in the north and Kain Fuery at large, and Ruby watching Ed's back in Drachma. With the exceptions of Sebastian and Ruby, Roy had trusted this team for years now, and knew that if something had come up that the Kitchen Cabinet deemed urgent enough to call him away from private time on his afternoon off, he would risk hurting a sensitive child's feelings and listen to their reports with his full attention.  
"What have you got for me, Charlie?"  
The former infantryman laid a brass shell casing on the tablecloth in front of Roy's favorite coffee mug. He glanced at Havoc, who nodded and added two more spent shells to the first. "Found them on the lawn facing the main entry. There's a nick in the stone work under your office window. It wasn't there two days before."  
"Thirty-eight caliber." Hawkeye looked grim. "Silencer."  
"It would seem likely," Sebastian nodded.  
"Sir," Hawkeye began, "I take full responsibility for—"  
"—wait a minute, Colonel. Those were my men out there on patrol Havoc cut in.  
"—your personal safety within the Palace is my utmost concern—"Sebastian interrupted.  
Roy raised his hand for silence. "Charlie? I asked you what you've got for me."  
The sharp featured war veteran frowned. "Old Guard. That would be my guess."

The Old Guard.   
The few remaining followers of General Clemin and Brigadier General Edison, part of the Bradley braintrust who were privy to the darkest secrets of the Father's plans to create an undead army of soulless dolls that would eventually conquer all the nations surrounding Amestris so that their populations could be used as a resource for creating more philosopher's stones.   
More death. More sacrifices. It was inconceivable to Roy that anybody—anybody—would have condoned such a travesty once privy to the "truth behind the truth". Clemin and Edison had been the only known survivors of Bradley's inner team other than Olivier Armstrong who had infiltrated its ranks. Roy had forbidden interrogation techniques favored by the Bradley regime, but Grumman hadn't had quite as many scruples. "Roy, I am going to pry every last secret out of those bastards if I have to open their heads with my own hands," his predecessor had told him sharply. "Desperate times, desperate measures, son. If you thought some other fool would try to revive this—this—abomination-those undead soldiers….you'd do anything to stop them. I know you would. And if Clemin and Edison have even one scrap of information about any remnants of General Gardner's work or any surviving soldier-dolls or even any of his sympathizers, I'm going to find out if I have to order you to roast them alive."  
Roy had been horrified by those words and angrily told his Fuhrer that even a direct order to inflict pain on the prisoners would be disobeyed. "Yes, I know, Roy…I know…I'm a foolish old man. I have no more stomach for this kind of thing than you do. But I have to know if there are any others out there, any that will jeopardize the future of this country or the safety of this office. I'm not doing this just for myself. I'm thinking about you, boy. One day you're going to be sitting behind this desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders. I know what you hope to achieve and I want you to carry this nation into a bright future. If any of those renegades are still around, I want to stop them before they have a shot at you."  
Roy's arguments stopped the interrogations, but not before Edison admitted that there were still some operatives out there. "Subordinates to the generals on Bradley's staff," he told Roy when he met with Edison at the prison and informed him that he would experience no further harm if he cooperated. "They don't have the resources or the alchemic skills. But they were greedy men raised to great power in this nation. You were the one who brought us down—you and Armstrong. You'll be watching your backs for the rest of your lives if you don't find them."

"The Old Guard. How many on the list not accounted for?" Roy's expression was unreadable.  
"About seventeen. One of them, Hans Segrist, was taken down last month when he tried to infiltrate the Ishballan Embassy. General Miles took him captive and has him in custody."  
"Old news, Colonel Hawkeye. Tell me something useful."  
Havoc fingered one of the brass shells. "It's not ours. You recognize the marks at the bottom of the casing. This wasn't manufactured at any of our arms facilities. And that's the tricky part. There's talk," he helped himself to a jam biscuit, "that you didn't just catch pneumonia getting cold and wet on the Xerxes. Word has it you were—what's the thing they're calling it, Breda?"  
"Germ warfare."  
"Sounds ugly."  
"Yeah, but is it true?"  
Roy shook his head. "No."  
Knox slammed down his coffee cup. "That's bullshit and you know it."  
"Sir?" All eyes turned to the Fuhrer. Roy Mustang made a noncommittal gesture. Knox scowled at him and jabbed the air angrily with his cigarette. "Don't make me lie for you to your friends, boy," he barked. "I've seen the lab tests. Sebastian, you helped me nurse him. Ed's been up my ass about it, 'cause he suspected something had happened down in Aerugo that knocked Roy down and damn near killed him. Something nobody else caught. Now," he rose, shoving his chair back with a bang, "you eggheads better put the facts together. A dose of some lethal gram-positive bacteria we don't see around here. Three bullets and a hole in the wall outside the Fuhrer's office. Do the fucking math."  
The door slammed behind Dr. Knox. The Kitchen Cabinet turned their eyes to the Fuhrer.  
"Your orders, sir?" Hawkeye asked.  
Roy's expression remained calm. "Keep me posted. Double the guards on the children, Sebastian. I hold you personally responsible for their safety. Brief Dr. Pinako."  
"Do we want to attempt to relocate them?"  
Roy shook his head. "Negative. We try to move them out and it might look like an invitation to a potential hostage situation. Situation normal to all outward appearance, but don't let them out of surveillance."  
"Indeed, Your Excellency."  
"Charlie—thank you. Keep your ears open and report back to me. Havoc, get some your snipers in the trees and up on the roof. Colonel Hawkeye, coordinate with Briggs security. Make sure the Brigadier General is made aware of this situation.  
"Sir, what about Edward?" Sheska asked.  
Roy paused. Edward had been ready to cause an international incident by openly accusing Prince Claudio of spearheading an attempt on the Fuhrer's life. He was just enough of a loose cannon to put the whole operation at risk—and yet if he found out that he wasn't informed he would be furious. Roy sighed to himself. He'd have to risk his lover's temper this time. "I'll handle him myself."  
Charlie saluted his commanding officer. "I'd better phone my wife and let her know I'll be in the field for the next few weeks. Looks like this brief interlude of tranquility and peace is over."  
"For now, maybe." Roy smiled briefly. "Not forever."  
#  
"Armstrong-san, please, I beg of you, don't leap around like that!"  
Edward grabbed a lifeline and hung on for dear life as the airship's cargo began to slide across the deck. "You tryin' to get us killed?" The Xerxes lurched dangerously as the strongman bounded across the narrow deck and leaned over the rail, waving wildly to the masses below them.  
"JUST LOOK AT THE CROWD, EDWARD! THE ENTIRE CITY OF STOLTOVGRAD MUST HAVE COME OUT TO MEET US! WHY, THERE'S EVEN A MARCHING BAND AND—LET ME SEE THE BINOCULARS—OH, AND A CHORUS OF CHILDREN TO SING TO US, AND THERE ARE GREEN AND WHITE BANNERS HANGING FROM EVERY WINDOW!" His shirt was off in a flash and acres of pink skin and bulging muscle gleamed and sparkled in the sunlight. "CITIZENS OF DRACHMA! I THANK YOU FOR YOUR ACCOLADES WITH A DAZZLING DANCE OF BICEPS COREOGRAPHED ESPECIALLY FOR—"  
"GODDAMN IT, YOU CRAZY SON OF A BITCH! SIT DOWN!"  
Alphonse Elric had spoken.  
Armstrong sat down.

Fanatical about air safety, Alphonse had drilled and drilled his crew relentlessly about securing themselves to lifelines and keeping cargo and equipment tied down under netting or in containers attached to the Xerxes or her guylines. "I want to be able to flip this ship upside down and not have one potato roll off my plate," he insisted. It was rare to hear the younger Elric lay down the rules so all crew members—even his older brother—obeyed without question.  
Well…almost every crew member…

The Amestrian food did not suit his palate or his digestion, and after their ascent from Fort Briggs Pio Bacalla had sought almost exclusive refuge in the on-board privy. He had monopolized the tiny cubicle so much that Alphonse had become annoyed. "I'm sorry, Pio, but you aren't the only one who needs to use it."  
There was a salvo of flatulence and a low groan. "Pio-san, if you are unwell, I would be honored to offer you a hot tisane of beneficial herbs that would ease your discomfort."  
"Dr. Chen, with all due respect, after sampling your motion sickness draught I can say I would be more eager to drink a bucket of warm horse sweat. It tasted uncannily like cat piss and mushrooms with a bouquet like an Ishballan's armpit."  
Edward rolled his eyes. "Rude little fucker, isn't he?" He pounded on the flimsy metal sheet that served as a door. "C'mon out, Peehole, before I take a dump in one of your mixing bowls."  
"You leave my things alone!" the Aerugoan snarled.  
"Where are his bags?" Ed yelled to the crew. 'Yeah, hand me that big white one with the blue stripes. Looks like Granny Pinako's old thunder mug."  
"I cook with that, you swine!"  
"I always said your food tasted like shit," Ed shot back. Bacalla darted out of the dunny, clutching his trousers, only to find his property untouched and Ed dashed in and slammed the door panel behind him. The other members of the crew who needed to relieve themselves lined up before the privy and after a brief interval Ed emerged, grinning. "Get in line like everybody else, and if you can't wait, hang your ass over the rail and crap on the tree tops!"

By the next morning, Bacalla was ducking into the privy so often that Dr. Chen was becoming concerned. Alphonse sternly told the envoy that if his health did not improve by the next morning he would compel Bacalla to take Chen's remedies by force if necessary. He also warned Bacalla not to unhook his lifeline. "We'll be landing shortly and the winds are picking up. Last thing we need is a man-"  
"-an idiot, you mean Ed growled.  
"—overboard. Is that understood, Pio?"  
The dark haired man had shouted an 'affirmative' from behind the privy tarp…  
….which was fortuitous indeed when the Xerxes began to lurch and sway as it glided into view. 

"Alex…sorry. Just…be careful, okay?"  
"I AM SORRY, ALPHONSE ELRIC! I WILL ENDEAVOR TO RESTRAIN MY EMOTIONS UNTIL WE ARE SAFELY ON THE GROUND. IS THE SHIP ALL RIGHT? IS ANYONE HURT?"  
Ed nodded. "All the gear is okay. Dumped my coffee, is all."  
"Chen-san?"  
"The gimbal you designed for the burner works perfectly, Al-san."  
"All hands count off!"  
They were a man short. "Oh hell," he scrubbed his face in annoyance. "Pio! Castellan, are you all right?"  
Maxim squinted up at the incoming airship. "Alexi, is that a nakedman hanging from under the Xerxes?"  
The young professor adjusted his brass spyglass. "Half-naked.Still has his coat and tie on."  
"And his trousers around his ankles!"  
Lobachevsky snatched out of Alexi's hand and looked for himself. "I know that man," he thundered. "It's Castellan Bacalla, the envoy from Aerugo."  
Alexi and Maxim exchanged grins. "This is one Tovarich we shall want to party with, da?"  
TO BE CONTINUED


	20. OPEN MOUTH, INSERT....FOOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawkeye doesn’t see eye-to-eye with Fuhrer Mustang, Winry doesn’t see eye to eye with Garfiel over her kids—Al doesn’t see eye to eye with Ed over politics and Ed seeks solace in the contents of Dr. Chen’s mysterious box of ‘educational materials’

OPEN MOUTH, INSERT…FOOT  
By The Binary Alchemist

"Not. One. Word. Do I make myself understood, Colonel Hawkeye?"

The last time he'd barked at her like that was in the hospital after he'd learned of her emotional reaction to his alleged demise at the hands of Lust. It was a tone she didn't dare disobey. That didn't mean she had to like it. "Yes, Sir."  
Roy wasn't buying it. "Is that 'yes sir, I will follow your orders because they are the correct course of action', or 'yes, sir, I will follow your orders with all due reluctance because rank prevents me from calling you a fool'?"  
Her spine stiffened to full attention. "It is my duty to follow your orders in full detail regardless of my personal opinion, Sir."  
Roy sighed in exasperation and ruffled his already messy black hair. "You think I'm wrong. You think I need to leave Central. You want me to run—"  
"With respect, Sir—I don't want you to run, but I'm concerned that somebody got past your bodyguards and got close enough to fire at your window." She cleared her throat slightly. "And I'm concerned about your children."  
"My-?"  
His bodyguard nodded briskly. "Yes sir, yours. Edward is your companion. He shares your life. He and his family are now your family, and I will protect them as I would protect you, sir."  
He stared at her for a long moment. He knew what it cost her to say those words and he hoped she understood his unspoken gratitude. "Your recommendations, Colonel?"  
"How many contingency plans do you have regarding their safety or evacuating them?"  
"Not enough to satisfy you, apparently." He scowled at her over his coffee mug. "You have my attention, Colonel. Let's hear it."  
Within the hour phone calls were placed. Some cenz—quite a lot of them, if the truth be told—changed hands. When she was satisfied, Colonel Hawkeye and Major Havoc presented Fuhrer President Mustang with a battle plan, several maps and a list of paid accomplices. Hawkeye looked satisfied and Havoc was grinning from ear to ear. "Just call it 'Operation Mother Goose', Chief."  
#  
"Bloody motherfuckin' hell!"  
"You said it, Brother!" Al adjusted the burners, nodded to the crew and gave the signal to begin the descent. "If they didn't look so cheerful I'd be scared enough to wet myself. Just look at that mob!"  
Ed smirked nastily. "Yeah. And that mob just looked at Peehole's arse, swingin' through the treetops with his ball sac flapping in the breeze. "  
"Don't be rude, Ed."  
"And don't tell me it isn't funny," his older brother shot back. "You're too nice, Al. He's been a prick since he got on board—hell, from the look on Ruby's face I'm willing to bet he was a prick the whole time she was racing him up to Briggs. I almost felt sorry for her."  
A gloved hand gripped his shoulder. "Ed…listen to me. You know how important this mission is. And I'm not fond of Pee—er—Pio. But everything we do from now on is going to affect the future. We're not just two kids out on their own mission anymore. We're doing this for our country…and if you think about it, we're doing this for Maes and Nina." Al reached inside his brother's jacket and tugged out the battered leather travel pocket case that held two small photos of his children that traveled everywhere with Edward. He flipped it open. "Just like Roy is building the future for Amestris, what you and I are doing makes a better future for the kids, right? Isn't it worth gritting our teeth and putting up with…with…" he rolled his eyes skyward, "a total asswipe—for the sake of our family? For kids like…like Elycia?" His topaz eyes were pleading now. "Ed…please-"  
Ed raised his hands to cut his brother off mid-sentence. Jeeze, if he starts with the damn water-works-did he learn this from Winry or what? But Al was right. Ed knew Al was right and as galling as it was, he swallowed back the argument that was churning in his gut and gave the hell in. "All right, Al, all right, I'll keep my mouth shut. I'll be a model of diplomacy, and if I break my word I will hold still and let you beat the crap out of me. I'll make an effort to be civil with Pee—uh—Bacalla." Ed gritted his teeth and forced himself to smile pleasantly, although to any observer his features appeared to be twisted into the sort of grimace seen when one's foreskin is caught in one's zipper. "Just don't expect me to suck his dick."  
Alphonse shuddered in disgust. "Wouldn't dream of it."  
"Цветения мы приносим в лето Как семья  
собирает под рукой валов внутри рука,  
приветствуя один другого Добро пожаловать   
те мы пропускали настолько длиной"  
"WHAT'S THAT THEY ARE SINGING?" Armstrong boomed as he waved to the chorus of rosy cheeked children who came forward to meet the crew of the Xerxes as they disembarked.  
To Ed's surprise, Bacalla lifted his voice in a melodic baritone, bowing to a little girl who shyly offered him a bunch of sunflowers.  
"Blossoms we bring in the summer  
As the family gathers beneath the trees  
Hand in hand, greeting each other  
Welcoming those we have missed so long…"  
Switching to Drachman, he knelt down among the children and sang heartily with them until the last verse before being engulfed in a wave of hugs and kisses. He then rose, bowed graciously to the Tsarina and to Lobachevsky and waved his greetings to the assembled multitude which roared its approval.  
Ed buried his face in his gloved palm. "Crap. They love him."  
They loved Dr. Chen as well, who had changed out of his flying leathers into an embroidered coat of scarlet silk, golden dragons crawling along both sleeves. With his long black hair unbound and spilling down his back and his round, beaming face, the Drachmans oohed and ahhed over the exotic visitor as if he had arrived from another planet.  
The assembled soldiers in the Tsarina's guard cheered and pumped their fists in approval as Armstrong ripped off his jacket and shirt, flexing his biceps until they gleamed with sweat, then squeezing his arms down and making his pectorals dance in time with the lively air played by a uniformed brass band. "CITIZENS OF STOLTOVGRAD! BEHOLD—THE MAGNIFICENCE OF YOUR HOSPITALITY HAS CAUSED MY MUSCLES TO SWELL AND PULSE IN RAPTUROUS APPRECIATION!"  
"Hope that doesn't make the headlines!" Al whispered to Ed nervously.  
"No—but you will. Take a look over there!" Ed jerked his thumb in the direction of a throng of squealing girls held aloft boldly printed posters that glorified the dashing younger Elric in his flying scarf and helmet, saluting the future, one foot resting on a cloud and the words ALPHONSE HERO OF THE SKIES glaring out in block letters.  
Ed stared at his friends and his kid brother being mobbed and cheered and kissed and idolized. He picked up his battered suitcase and slung his rucksack over his shoulder. "What the fuck am I—chopped liver?" He shrugged his way through the crowd virtually unnoticed until an ear-splitting whistle attracted his attention.  
"EDWARD! TOVARICH! Welcome to Drachma!" Suddenly Maxim, Alexi and Pyotir were pounding him on the back, snatching away his bundles and hugging him, all chattering away enthusiastically and gesturing to the people around them.  
"Professor! We've found him! Edward, druk! Welcome to Stoltovgrad-"  
"—don't worry, Tsarina! We found him! Come with us, my friend—"  
"—bet you did not expect such a crowd, da? Everybody is talking about you—"  
"—Professor Elric, would you please come this way? The Tsarina-"  
He was half dragged, half carried through the multitude and he was blinking—the sun was in his eyes, the Tsarina was giving him a kiss (and a little pinch on his bum that made him yelp with surprise) and a microphone was being shoved at his face and he was trying to think of something coherent in Drachman that the non-Amestrian speakers would comprehend as a thanks for their greeting. "Please…enough…I really don't…ah…this is great, but we're just, y'know….please…da?"  
The crowd went silent. A thousand-plus faces were turned on Edward Elric and they did not look quite so friendly anymore. Several soldiers shifted uneasily and laid their hands on their weapons.  
Oh, shit.  
Pyotir tapped him on the shoulder. "Allow me, my friend." The young blond scientist quickly rattled off what sounded like an apology and an explanation. Maxim then grabbed the mike, slung his arm around Ed's shoulder and shouted something that made the crowd burst into laughter. "Now," he whispered in Ed's ear, "bow to the Tsarina and tell her 'eez—vee-NEE-tyeh, Tsarina'."  
Edward bowed, looking grave and nervous. "Eez vee NEE-tyeh, Tsarina. I'm not sure what I said but I would never say anything to hurt you. You and the Tsar have been great, and it's great to be here."  
Ekaterina patted him gently on the shoulder. "It was not meant badly and I take no offense, my young friend." She spoke rapidly to the crowd and then the cheering and the music began again.  
"Th-thanks, Ma'am. Um…what exactly did I say?"  
She beamed at him. "You said 'please—da', which with your accent sounded very much like 'piz-dah', a word that makes reference to…shall we say…that which a lady possesses and a man covets? You understand?"  
Bacalla lifted one eyebrow in disdain. "You called the Tsarina a cunt, you stupid git. On national radio."  
Ed turned a remarkable shade of scarlet and glanced nervously at his brother. Alphonse made a slit-your-throat gesture and the frown on his face gave silent promise of some very sharp words that Ed was fairly certain he did not really deserve—not this time, at least.  
#  
As far as Elycia was concerned, this was the most fun she'd ever had during the summer.   
Maes and Nina were coming to play every afternoon and she would dress up in an old skirt and blouse of Mommy's and put on a pair of Daddy's old spectacles without any glass in them and she would play school with her young friends. Nina didn't know a lot of words but when Elycia chalked them out on the little black board easel Gracia had set up in the front garden under the trees Nina would repeat them back as long as they were simple, like 'cat' and 'ball' and 'hat'. Maes would parrot them back and then go back to scribbling circles on his writing tablet, using nearly every color crayon in the box.  
It was almost time for snacks when a black car pulled up to the front gate. Elycia recognized the tall, dark haired man who got out and waved. "Mister Samuelson!"  
Donal Samuelson, news anchor at Radio Capital, waved back and strolled over to say hello. "It's good to see you, Elycia. I've come to see your mommy about her radio show and take some pictures of her for the paper." He gestured to a sandy haired fellow with a camera. "This is Mr Foster from the Central Times. He is going to do a story about your mommy for the weekend paper. Won't that be nice?"  
"Uh huh!"  
Foster knelt down and offered his hand. "Nice to meet you, little lady! Are you playing school marm with your friends?"  
Elycia beamed. "Yes, sir! This is Nina and this—Maes, quit picking your nose, that's nasty!—that's Maes."  
Maes offered the strangers a toothy grin. "I got a bug up my nose. You wanna see?" He tilted his blond head back and made snorting noises. "I wasn't picking boogers."  
The little brunette with the green eyes scowled at the older boy. "Bad brudder!"  
Elycia stared at Maes in horror. "Maes, did you shove a beetle up your nose?"  
'Yah! It tickles!"  
The elder girl rolled her eyes. "Mommmmmmmy! Maes stuffed something up his nose again!"  
Gracia was out of the front door like a shot. "Not again!" she groaned. "Maes, honey, don't do that! "  
"It will go up there," Elycia warned, and lay eggs."  
"EGG. E-G-G-egg!" Nina crowed triumphantly.  
Foster turned to Samuelson. "Wait—is this…that's the Elric boy, isn't it? The one that was on the radio a few months with Frank Archer that was so funny?"  
"He's not that funny right now," Gracia grumbled. She held a lacy handkerchief to the boy's nose and ordered him to blow out hard. There was a loud snort and Gracia eyed the content of the handkerchief with disgust.  
"I told you it would fit," Maes taunted Elycia, and both men burst out laughing over the smug triumph on his little face.  
"This is too good—Donal, can we angle this into the human interest feature on Mrs. Hughes? The readers will eat it up!" Foster began snapping photos of Maes and his crayons, Nina with her picture book and Elycia looking adorable in her daddy's glasses and a very flustered looking Gracia right in the middle, wiping snot and bits of dead beetle off her hands.  
"Well…they've been on the radio all ready, so I'm sure their mom won't mind. I'll call Winry and see if it's okay. The kids are up here visiting their Uncle Roy."  
Foster looked surprised. "They're staying up at the Palace with President Mustang?"  
"Oh yes—they have playdates over here in the afternoon. Mr. Sebastian brings them 'round and then Mrs. Pinako picks them up and we all go for dessert at the bakery before they head back at the palace."  
Nina glanced up and smiled up into Foster's camera. "Love Uunka Wroy!"  
Foster zoomed in for a close up of Edward Elric's daughter. "Yes, honey. I just bet you do…."  
#  
Ed had just been reamed by his brother—and not in any way he would have found enjoyable had it been Roy. It stung being lectured by his kid brother—okay, maybe Al was only 10 months younger, but still…  
He had showered and shaved, endured a five course dinner, half a dozen boring speeches and had eaten something called borsht that tasted weird and looked like homunculus blood. Maxim, Alexi and Pyotir had invited him out drinking but he waved them off. "I'm gonna call Roy…check in, let him know we're okay, y'know."  
They let him off with a lot of teasing and knowing winks until Pyotir told them to lay off and leave him alone. Now Ed's evening dress was a rumpled pile in the middle of the guestroom floor and he was cursing at the international phone operator because of the shitty connection to Central. When he got through, Hawkeye answered the phone. "Sorry, Edward, but there was a last minute meeting of the Security Council. I'm afraid Roy won't be back for several hours. Shall I have him call you later?"  
"Damn….yeah…uh…waitaminute. We're leaving at 5am to go to the dacha. Tell him….tell him I'll call him when we get settled in. It's a village called Komarovo. I'm sure they've got phones there."  
"Understood." There was a long, significant pause. "Is there anything you'd like to tell him about, Edward?"  
Edward wracked his brain. "Nope. Why?"  
Hawkeye glanced down at the headline of the Central Times"Foot-In-Mouth Disease Strikes Drachma Delegation: Tsarina States 'All Forgiven'". Mustang had been apoplectic and had Breda and Kain working away furiously at damage control over Edward's faux pas on top of keeping the story of the shooting attempt off the airwaves and out of the papers. "Nothing. Good evening, Edward."  
"You too."  
Sinking down onto the bed, his eyes fell on the duffle bag that contained the box from Spenser's Emporium. Glancing around nervously, he pulled it out and removed the lid. He contemplated the contents for several moments before gingerly removing the largest item, handling it as cautiously as if it were about to go off in his hand—and if it had been real it might have done precisely that.  
"Well…it doesn't…" He ran a hand over the highly detailed surface.  
It did, actually. The color wasn't the same, but the length and girth was pretty close, as was the generous thickness of the mushroomed tip. He sniffed at it, much as Black Hayate would have sniffed at a new chew toy. His face flushed. If Al had wandered in at that moment he would have died. His tongue flicked out. It didn't taste terrible, but it didn't taste Roy. The real thing would have pulsed and jumped when licked and flushed a purplish shade when sucked on—not that Ed was going to suck on this…thing. "I'm not that desperate….I'm not." What the fuck was he doing, addressing that hunk of pinkish rubber like it was the man he was missing tonight? He remembered the first time he'd put his face between Roy's thighs. If anyone had told him at fifteen that one day he'd put his hand down some guy's pants and touch his junk and put it in his mouth, Ed would have pounded the crap out of him—maybe. That was before he let himself think about things, thanks to Aunt Chris.

That first time, when Roy brought Ed home from the hospital in Central last winter, Ed had beaten Roy at chess and then leaned in awkwardly. He barely had a clue what he was doing, other than Roy had done the same thing to him before and it felt unbelievable. He had shoved his face between Roy's legs and just…stared at it, all purple and dripping and twitching as his breath warmed the sensitive flesh. You don't have to, Roy had whispered hoarsely, when what he wanted to say was please…don't stop. There was something about the scent that fired neurons in his brain that had his own cock screaming to be let out and touched and sucked at. The curls were fine and very soft, very black against the pale abdomen and the flushed manhood. There were snail-trails of moisture streaking the ivory skin and the look on Roy's face was desperate, even as he repeated over and over, you don't have to do this.  
Yes, he did. Because he needed this. Wanted this. Wanted to give what he had been given. Wanted to make Mustang loose control as he'd done to Edward before, to break him, make him thrash his head and groan and call his name in the way that made Edward's stomach tie itself in knots and made his balls tighten up and want to rub himself all over that expanse of heated skin.  
His hand was moving along the rubber phallus, his eyes squeezed shut. The cool artificial sac could be squeezed gently and he could feel something moving on each side—a bit larger than the real thing, but still… There was a suction cup at the base. Eyes still closed, Ed spat on his finger, wiped the moisture along its surface and then pressed it hard against the wall above the headboard. Rising to his knees, shaking, he couldn't stop himself from nuzzling the twin globes, sucking at them, the cool fleshy weight bobbing against his forehead. Stretching his neck, he caught it between his lips as his hands groped for his own length. He remembered how Roy's member began to swell even larger in his mouth, the veins standing out so he could trace them as he licked his way up to that little spot under the head where Roy had licked him and made him sob and bite at the pillows that first time. The cock in his mouth tasted bland and slightly chemical, not of salty skin and bitter slickness and Roy, but the tighter he squeezed and jerked at himself he could half imagine his man spread out, holding his shaking legs at the knees, hair damp with sweat and his chest slicked and glistening, black eyes wild, lips gnawed raw.  
Edward….oh, god…yes…I'm…ohshit…I'm so—  
"I want you to…"  
And he did, and as the memory blazed behind his closed eyes Edward did as well, trying not to bite down on the phallus as he jackknifed and whimpered aloud, not caring that the headboard and the pillows he had been unconsciously humping would be spattered or that when he later pulled the object off the wall he tore a fist sized hole in the hand painted wallpaper. He tumbled back on the bed and pressed a finger between his cheeks, rubbing hard, imagining another hand, coaxing the last drops from his body, missing the warmth of that other's body and the soft, soft kisses that always followed in those rare unguarded moments after their tumultuous loving and drifting off to sleep.  
"….roy….bastard…."  
The phone rang, but he slept right through it. When he woke, he carefully washed and dried the toy, locked it away and tried not to thing of what he'd done—not out of shame, but because he would want to do it again-and soon.  
#  
Winry hung up the phone and smiled at Dr. Pitt Renbak, who was pouring Mr. Garfilel another cup of coffee. "That was the Central Times," she told them, her eyes dancing with delight. "Remember how Maes and Nina were on the Midday Amestris show with Frank Archer last winter? Well, looks like my little geniuses are going to be in the spotlight again?"  
Garfiel paused, cup halfway to his rouged lips. "Howso, precious?"  
"Well, she scooted her stool up to the table and poured a splash of cream into her own mug, "seems they are doing a feature on Gracia—you know, Mrs Hughes—my friend in Central with the hobby show on Midday? Anyway, Maes and Nina were visiting and they just won over Mr. Samuelson and some guy from the paper, so they wanted permission to put their pictures in the paper with Elycia and Gracia, and they wanted to mention me—"  
"—and Ed?" Garfiel asked.  
"yes, of course Ed, too. So I said okay and they'll mention us at Godz Studio as well! Isn't that terrific?"  
Pitt's eyes met Garfiel's. Not terrific, they agreed silently. "Do they need Ed's permission?" he asked carefully.  
"Oh, no—just one parent—"  
"Only you're not their legal guardian anymore. Not right now, sweetie. And forgive me for being Miss Buttinsky here, but I don't think Miss Izumi and Big Sig would be all that thrilled if somebody asked them to put those kids in the public eye."  
Winry looked annoyed. "I don't see any problem!"  
Pitt cleared his throat nervously. "Winry-you're probably right, but—well, your kids are going to be part of the Presidential household…rioht?"  
"Well, yes but—Roy's been really responsible and Izumi says he cares for the kids-oh, and Granny says they're all getting along fine and all….what's the problem?"  
"Maybe nothing. Maybe I'm just an alarmist." Pitt shook his curly head.  
"You're being silly now," she smiled at her old friend. "I mean, who would want to harm the kids of the Fullmetal Alchemist—or President Mustang?"  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	21. THE CONCERNS OF CADET KIMBLEE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the train to the Drachman countryside, Edward reads another candid letter from Roy, learning the intimate details of the night Maes and Roy gave Zolf Kimblee the damning proof of their illicit intimate relationship-- as well as the depth of Roy’s feelings for both Hughes and Edward himself.

THE CONCERNS OF CADET KIMBLEE  
By The Binary Alchemist

The milk train to Komarovo did nasty things to one's backside, jolting and swaying as it did. Edward was somewhat relieved he hadn't tried anything more adventurous with the rubber phallus in Dr. Chen's 'toy box". It was 4 a.m. and he yawned dramatically, then inquired of his companions if anybody had enough brains to remember to pack a flask of hot coffee.  
"Face the surly Master Edward without coffee or provisions? Bah! You take me for a fool?" Alexi dug under the seat and dragged out a largish basket. "I want to live long enough to have grey hairs on my head and a dozen pretty granddaughters to make me want to tear them out. Here." The brew was heavily sweetened and so strong Ed worried it would melt the tin mug he was handed, along with a hunk of black bread paved with a thick slab of smoked bauskas cheese. "We will eat better when we are settled at the dacha—Nataly, the milkman's daughter, naturally finds my charms irresistible and will be stopping by to make deliveries, so we shall have the freshest butter, cheese and kumiss—"  
"What's that?" Ed inquired between bites. The bread was a sour rye studded with lots of caraway seeds that wanted to stick in his teeth.  
"A thick soured milk—from the mare. You will like it," Pyotir clarified.  
"Da! Kumiss with black bread grated into it—that was a fine breakfast from my student days," Maxim sighed. "Tomorrow morning, I make it for you, special."  
" You do and I'll kill you in your sleep," Ed threatened. "Hell, don't even breathe around me if you're drinking shit like that or I'll puke on your shoes."  
Al shifted uncomfortably. Even with his jacket folded under his bum the ride was a little rougher than he was used to. "Is this the only train to Komarovo?"  
Maxim shook his head. "No—but I was certain that your comrade from Aerugo would be more inclined to stay back at the Mayor's house with Mr. Armstrong rather than rise before daybreak and go with us. The next afternoon train is two days from now, so we will give you a little respite from all that fuss and bother—"  
"And those muscles!" Alexi shook his head. "But he seems kind."  
Ed and Al nodded in agreement. "He's all right," Ed grinned.  
Al dug into his carry on. "Better than all right," he corrected. "He handed me this for you—two guesses who it's from."  
Ed snatched it from his brother's hand. "Gimme that!" he barked. "That's private!"  
Al rolled his eyes. "As if I want to read that mush!"  
Ed's eyes sparked dangerously. "Shut up—this isn't mushy crap. Roy doesn't write that kind of stuff."  
"What's he write then, Tovarich—smut? Ah, see how his eyes blaze—"  
"—his cheeks are red as a maiden's—"  
"—da, must be very lively reading—shall we find other seats, or shall you be wanting the privacy of the toilet facilities?"  
Amber eyes narrowed. "You…are….all…evil fucks. Not that it is any of your goddamn business he waved the encoded message—"but Roy is working on his memoirs and these are some notes about his time at the academy with Brigadier General Hughes."  
Al looked intrigued. "Really? Sounds interesting. Can I read it when you're done with it?"  
"Over my dead body."  
#  
Edward—  
If you're reading this then Ruby has safely arrived with Castellan Bacalla. Please do not kill him, tempting as that might be. Last thing I need is more paperwork.   
The children and I are getting on well. You know I have less than no experience with youngsters other than you—sorry, I had to say it. Fortunately, Maes minds me better than you ever did, and Nina has fallen under the spell of my charms and has become quite attached to me. I must admit that this is mutual. I make sure Hawkeye manages my schedule so that I can be with the children in the evening and put them to bed. Dr. Pinako has been invaluable in helping me to learn the difference between ordering a subordinate and requesting firmly that your son refrain from sliding down the banisters, climbing into the piano to see how it works, eating dirt, sticking bugs up his nose and not loudly (albeit accurately) commenting on any bodily functions—human or equine—that may occur in his presence. His keen observations on the horse droppings he discovered in the pasture this afternoon have been this evening's obsession and while Havoc may have found them highly entertaining they didn't enhance my appreciation of my supper. I will say that when he cackles in fiendish delight over his little misdemeanors I have flashbacks to a certain 12 year old who took endless joy in trying to make me lose my composure.  
I have also been making an effort to include Elycia and, indirectly, Gracia, into their lives. The three of them enjoy being together and Gracia and I—well, we have spoken rather candidly about Hughes. Suffice it to say she is not completely at ease with the knowledge that her husband loved me before her but I believe she loves him enough to make an effort towards accepting this as part of who he was. I know being able to talk about it to you has made it easier for me to lay the past to rest.  
Make no mistake, Edward—the man you pulled down into your arms that night in the hospital (after you pulled off your wedding ring for good) and the man who reluctantly left you the next morning are not one and the same. Alchemy is not the only method of transmutation—loving another person may be more subtle in the way that it changes a person but it is no less profound.   
I'm sounding pedantic and analytical, right? If you were here you'd say something along the lines of 'what the fuck is wrong with you? Sheesh, get your head out of your ass, Mustang. If you can't shoot straight you can put that mouth of yours to better use and suck my dick." And I'd be cool and sarcastic and you would get pissed off and sock me in the arm—and I'd flip you on your back, and you'd cheat and lock that metal leg of yours around my hip and turn me face down in the sofa cushions and sit on me until I noticed you'd let your guard down and buck you off and then we'd be down on the floor, wrestling and snarling insults at one another until I shut you up with a few strategic kisses and a hand between your thighs—and then before I know it you've got me at a disadvantage again—because, you insufferable brat, you know damn well that once you wrap your arms and legs around me you've got me at your mercy…  
HOWEVER- when I'm buried deep in your body and my cock is stroking you right where you love me to touch you-and you're panting and shaking and spitting out curses and biting down hard on my shoulder—the tables are turned and even a stubborn man like you wouldn't dare argue with me on this.  
I'd say we're an even match, wouldn't you?

That's not how it was with Maes. I minded, but not enough to want to confront him about it. I came home for the holidays and confided to my aunt that I was in love with something more than just my country for once. Aunt Chris merely grunted, lit another cigarette and said, "well, we'll see." And, of course, she gave me The Book and told me to be careful. She told me not to get hurt. In retrospect, I don't think she meant my body, but I was too naïve to understand that back then.

Night after night, Maes and I curled up together on his bunk, sweaty and spent from our lovemaking, laughing and whispering in the dark about the 'beautiful future' we envisioned for Amestris. We would change the world as the vanguard of a new era of peace and prosperity for all of Amestris—hell, for the whole damned world. And when sharing these visions, I used the words 'us' and 'we' and 'together'. Not once did Maes contradict me. Did he not understand that I meant 'us' as 'you and I together'? Yes, yes—I know he said originally that he joined the army to fight and protect the 'woman he loved' once he found her. In my mind, I thought this had changed.   
I was wrong, only I didn't know it yet.

So when I found myself assigned to a new dorm room with Zolf J. Kimblee, I was furious. Always so quick with the insinuations—there was something oily and snake-like about the man that belied his dandified elegance and cool good looks. 

One morning Hughes and I were on kitchen duty and he had a perfect melon he was cutting up for breakfast, but as soon as he split it in half the inside was foul and crawling with worms. "Reminds me of your room mate," he half joked. I laughed and agreed with him.  
"Listen," he told me quietly, "I hope you're watching yourself around him. I've done some snooping around—a little recon on his background—and lemme tell you, Roy, that guy is one nasty piece of work." He stared at me intently. "He…is he asking any personal questions about…..?"  
"About us?"  
He glanced around nervously, as if he was afraid someone would overhear. "Careful…"  
I frowned at him. "Not telling him any more than I have to about anything, including us." A few minutes passed. The silence between us was not altogether comfortable. Finally Maes looked up at me and the need in his eyes was raw and tangible. I held his gaze and nodded slowly. "When?"  
"I'll find out when he's on duty some night." He cleared his throat. "It's been too long."  
I nodded. "I know." I wanted to touch him. More, I wanted him to touch me first. "If we do—when we do—I…don't hold back, okay?"  
Sweat popped out on his forehead. He knew what I wanted and he knew that I meant it. "Roy…damn. It's gonna hurt bad."  
"Think I care?"  
"Yeah, well I do! That's the last thing I want to think about—"  
"—I'm prepared."  
That caught him off guard. He bit his lip. "H-how?"  
"I'll tell you—I'll show you—when we're…when we get a chance." I was dead serious. I knew what I wanted. I wasn't a fool. I read the book Aunt Chris gave me and knew that I needed to take the initiative and that since Maes hadn't been with a man before (there were a few girls here and there) he wouldn't have a clue what to do with my body—and as generously endowed as he was I was at risk of being injured as badly as he feared I might be. So at night when I knew Kimblee was asleep I would touch myself much as I touched you that first time. He was a sound sleeper and tried to keep quiet no matter how good it felt. I worked hard at learning to relax, to teach my body to accept him and I was now fairly sure that with enough hand cream or oil or whatever we could get ahold of that I could give him what he was afraid to ask for.  
Because this is the truth of it, Ed: I think the real reason Maes hadn't taken me was less about fear of hurting me and more about making an irrevocable step. As long as it was hands and mouths and rubbing our bodies together, it was still just 'fooling around'. He'd never touched me beyond that and he didn't encourage me to touch him that way either. I think he clung to some absurd idea of masculinity that somehow being penetrated or penetrating me meant there was no turning back. Once done it couldn't be undone and his long-cherished fantasy of The Perfect Woman would be abandoned forever. Hell, Ed, I think at that stage of my life, I would have been willing to share him with a woman if he really thought he needed one. And, if I am scrupulously honest, I DID share him with a woman, even if we did not technically cross the line of intimacy after his wedding day. The sex stopped, Ed, and the truth is it was because I was the one that held him to it—because the last thing…the last thing I EVER wanted to hear from him was, 'hey, buddy—we sure were drunk the other night, and we got out of hand—sorry, 'bout that, Roy!'  
I never wanted to hear him say he was sorry for climbing back into my bed—so until the day he died I stuck to my guns and deprived us both.

But back then—I was nineteen and determined and by damn he would fuck me and I would take him—all of him—deep and completely and the pain be damned—and when he pulled out of me he would not be able to believe how good it was and he would never forget it. He was my man and I was good and goddamned if I was going to give him up because of Zolf J. Kimblee, damn his soul.

The next six weeks was hell on Hughes. I intended that. I was in hell and I wanted him to burn with me. On the PT course I could feel those green eyes following my every stride and I could see his nipples harden under his sweat-damp t-shirt. And I swear his fatigue trousers were tighter in the rear than I had noticed before and on one occasion when he wrestled me to the ground I heard a low, urgent, 'next time it's for real' in my ear. Oh, our deportment was exemplary and although Kimblee hovered over us like some damned vulture we did not give him or anyone else anything to gossip about.

Somehow he got us both on night cleaning detail on the same weekend Kimblee was on front gate sentry duty. He stopped by to supervise us as we swabbed the toilets and swept out the barracks before relieving the guard at 9pm. "Keep it clean, boys," he mocked us as he strode out towards the gate. "There'd better not be one spot of grease on the kitchen floor or there'll be hell to pay."  
Now was our chance. We intended to make the most of it.

Our first time together, Ed, was unplanned and unprepared for—but it was right. Does that make sense. And even though you were impatient and demanding and kept urging me to 'stop messing around and fuck me!' I was slow and careful and took my time because a)I wanted it to be the best and most intense experience you'd ever had, and b)Iwas so close to losing it again that if I didn't pace myself I'd have come a second time without even entering your body. And because I was so careful it was incredible for both of us and it only brought us closer together. Then again, I wasn't an eighteen year old virgin and neither were you.

Ironic that we met in the chow hall a year before and now we were returning to the scene of the crime to consummate our relationship at long last. My heart was pounding so hard I couldn't believe Kimblee hadn't noticed something was wrong with me. When I looked down I could actually see the buttons on my uniform shirt vibrate. Maes looked scared and determined at the same time as we closed the swinging door to the kitchen and he told me to wait while he rummaged in the ice cooler. "We gotta get something to make it slick or I'll kill you," he kept muttering, and he was so nervous he was actually looking through the salad bin my mistake and didn't even realize it.  
I had thought about this for some time, so I elbowed him out of the way and reached into the cold pantry, pulling out a stick of butter, wrapped in paper. This was the fancy, pressed stuff for the guest's table in those days, and its size I reckoned would suit our purpose.  
His belt snicked out of his trouser loops and he began to panic. "Roy-honest—it's gonna—"  
I jerked him close and bit his neck. "Shut up. I'm not going to let you chicken out on me, Maes. I want this, damn it, and you want it too."  
He groaned and pressed his hardness against me. "Y-yeah…yeah, I want it. Now," his green eyes were widely dilated and his breath was hot against my lips, "show me how I'm gonna fit up there."  
"Sit back and watch, soldier…." I took off my clothing slowly—all of it. I was damned if we were going to rush this. Kimblee would be at his post for four hours. Maes' room mate figured he had a girl somewhere and was a good sport about keeping his mouth shut. I was already rock hard and began playing with it, more for his entertainment than because it felt good. I don't think he ever really looked at what he'd been sucking all this time. This was no grope in the dark—this was real. "Goddam, Roy…" he whispered, reaching down to squeeze his own hardness.  
"You wanted to know how I know I can take you? Watch and learn, Hughes." I had already figured that if I asked him to prepare me he'd chicken out. Amazing. Yeah, I had read him very well. He could lie with some female and put his fingers and tongue in her but not the man he loved. Right enough—I'd show him how it was done. I buttered my fingers, kneeling at his feet, reached around and slicked myself. My fingers skated around the tightness and I shivered, the sweat starting to bead up on my chest. I leaned in close enough to nuzzle the heated outline that tented out his trousers. I was so ready for this that my finger slid right in with almost no resistance. "Can you see what I'm doing to myself?" I asked him and he shook his head. "Then go look, you idiot—because this is what I do when it's late and I'm thinking about you."  
He stepped behind me and there was a sharp hiss of breath. "Roy! Oh shit—does that—"  
A second finger slipped in and I welcomed it with a gasp. "Get closer," I ordered. He got on his knees and began to lick the back of my neck, and that third finger was nearly unnoticed—until I realized it wasn't mine. He moved it in with a rough jab, not realizing he was doing it. "Slow and deep," I coached. "Get some butter on it and then work it between my fingers—then curl it just a little towards my navel…agghhhhhh!"   
He'd found the sweet spot, first try, but pulled away frantically, thinking he'd hurt me. "No, moron—you did it right!" I growled. "You hit my prostate—that's what makes it good for a man."  
"Is that like a girl's clitoris?"   
I didn't know a clitoris from a carburetor and frankly couldn't have cared less at that moment. "You can make me come just rubbing me there—only your cock will feel better than your finger," I panted. At least his cock wouldn't have calluses or be at risk for hangnails. "Now get the butter."  
"Okay—now what?"  
"I've got to be lubed inside so just—AIIEEEEEEE!" He had just rammed a whole stick of cold butter right up my ass, and while the theory was good the truth was that it was a hell of a shock. But it would do the job and actually felt surprisingly good when he started moving it.   
"Melting fast," he whispered. "Must be really damned hot up there."  
"Only one way to find out," I invited. The next thing I heard was a zipper coming down. I rose to my knees. Considering his size that seemed the best way for him to take me, especially if he wasn't going to undress all the way. I knew it would be better of we were face to face—besides, I wanted to watch his expression when he slipped into me and discovered how much tighter and hotter I was than any women he'd played with in the past—but this would have to do. "You HAVE to go slow, Maes. Let me do the moving at first."  
I heard him slicking himself and then something was burning against me, pressing against the entrance and large, hot hands spread my cheeks apart. I eased back steadily until I felt him breach. I began rotating my hips in small circles to ease him in little by little. "Don't bear down. Let me do the work."  
"Hey, I don't mind being lazy," he chuckled, sucking in his breath sharply as he squeezed past the second ring of muscle. I knew he was fighting hard against the urge to just ram it in me, and I was grateful. According to the book, this was the worst of it. Once he was in past the ridge of his foreskin we were home free.  
I won't say it wasn't painful, but there was something about this joining that made me want that mixture of pleasure and discomfort, because THIS would join us as completely as two people can ever be joined—in body and in heart. I wanted to give him the gift of myself. I wanted him to spend the rest of his life looking back at this moment and recalling that the Beautiful Future began at that moment.   
I was a fool.  
Fucking is fucking, Ed. It's what happens AFTER we get out of bed that determines a relationship. But I am dreamer enough to hope that when you and I tore up that bed in the Central hospital we joined lives, not just bodies. I found with you what I never found with Maes, much as I wanted.   
I didn't know that then, and so I was bearing down on his shaft, sweating, shaking violently and rocking my hips until, thankfully, I was filled.  
There were white flashes behind my eyes and all he could say was oh…yeahhhhhhhh…  
And then he hooked his arms under mine for leverage and he hammered me right into the floor.  
I couldn't spread myself wider, and the pressure of his massive cock against my prostate made me so wet I feared I'd have nothing to shoot when me made me come. It was like having the whole damned world inside me—like being fucked by a mountain, and I was helpless and crying out incoherently as his balls slapped against mine and he growled and swore like a madman. I could smell the sharpness of his musk and the tang of his sweat and the faint greasiness of the concrete floor under me. I bit down on my arm to keep from howling with pleasure. Every time he pulled back he was pulling my breath with him. Every time he plunged forward I was blinded by sparks of whiteness and my abandoned cock jerked and little spurts of moisture dripped onto the cold floor.   
Maes was gone. In his place was this priapic beast who had lost even the gift of coherent speech. I think if I could have seen his face at that moment I would have feared him—any sane man would have felt the same. All I could hear was this weird, dreamlike humming, as if he were in some sort of trance…'mmhuuuuhhhmmm….mhhh…mhhhnnmmm'…'Yes…" I grunted back.   
'So good…come on…fuck me…harder, damn you…harder'  
He sank his teeth into my shoulder blade, dug in his nails and yanked me upright. "Take it!" he commanded and I rode him, impaling myself on that burning rod that was churning inside me. He grabbed at my balls and pulled hard. I gripped my shaft and burst over my own fingers, squeezing him so tightly from inside that he shouted my name and I swear I he spurted so hard and so hot and so thick that I could damn near feel it burning in my throat.  
Outside in the dining hall, observing with cool amusement, Zolf J. Kimblee clapped his hands, applauding the spectacle he had just witnessed. We never heard him.  
"You better get dressed." He tossed me a towel and I wiped myself off. "Damn, that was worth waiting for."  
I grinned at him. "Worth doing for a lifetime?"  
His eyes rolled back in his head and he folded his arms like a corpse. "Might as well bury me now. You'll fucking kill me some day, Roy Mustang." He grabbed me around the shoulder and plunged his tongue in my mouth in a rough kiss. "Seriously. You will be the death of me." He slapped me on the shoulder after he wiped up and tucked himself back in his trousers. "Can you walk?"  
"I'll manage."  
"Whew…that was…damn, that was something!" He searched my face, looking worried. "Was it…you looked like you were getting into it too."  
I laughed and shook my head. "You have no idea—maybe you'll want to try it yourself."  
One corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin. "You'd have to show me how. Maybe next time we get furloughed."  
"Yeah."  
The remains of the butter was disposed of, and we dumped the messy towels in the laundry hamper. "Say, you hungry?" I asked.  
"Hell yeah! Make me a sandwich, will ya? I had to do all the work."  
"Bite me."  
"Turn around and bend over."  
We laughed and shoved and taunted each other as we plundered the pantry for a big loaf of rustic bread, cold meats and cheese and a jar of mustard. "Sliced tomatoes?" I asked.  
"Works for me. Want onions?"  
"Kimblee would smell it on my breath."  
He made a face. "Last thing we need is him finding out." I passed him half of the sandwich and he wolfed it down. "What you and I do together is none of his goddamned concern—"  
"Oh, but it is, gentlemen!"  
We jerked our heads in unison. It was the last person on earth I wanted to see.   
"My, my—and just look at the time!"  
We glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. "You left your post at the gate."  
"I was relieve early—somebody said they thought they heard voices in the mess hall after the cleaning crew supposedly left. And I stopped by to check it out—and find two seniors out of barracks after lights out."  
Maes was wonderful. "Want a sandwich? The salami's really good."  
He glanced pointedly at my groin. "I'm sure Mustang loves a good salami, but it's not my personal preference."  
Maes shrugged and took another bite. "Was there something you wanted?" I inquired coolly, trying not to give him any advantage.   
He scribbled on his notepad. Then he smiled. "I'll have to cite you both for this. Out of barracks after hours, trespassing in the kitchen after hours—stealing food—"  
"Oh, and like nobody else has gotten hungry in the middle of the night and raided the kitchen?"  
He just…stared at us, smiling a little. "Hungry….yes…I'm sure you were both just…ravenous. Twenty demerits. Each."  
That was appalling. "What the hell?"  
"That's insane, Kimblee!"  
"Well then," he purred, "we can take it to your commanding officer, and I'll be glad to tell them that I saw the two of you in the kitchen stealing food—and about what appear to be semen stains on Cadet Hughes' trousers, as well a suspicious looking wet stain on the floor that I'm inclined to ask you to clean up yourself so I don't have to touch your bodily fluids."  
Maes never let on how furious he was. "I was washing my hands. I dripped. Big fucking deal."  
Kimblee shrugged. "If you say so. Oh, and Mustang—we'll be having cavalry drill tomorrow. Jouncing around on a hard leather saddle all day. Hope you're up for it."  
"I'll be ready."  
"I'm sure you will."   
He handed me a demerit citation. "Dispute it if you wish. I'll look forward to testifying—oh, now that's an intriguing word, isn't it? You know where it comes from?"  
I shook my head.  
"According to the history books, when the ancient Xerxians would take an oath on their honor they would put their hands under their testicles and vow that if they were lying they would allow their genitals to be cut off. I'm not afraid to testify about what I saw—and what I heard—tonight. Are you?"  
And he tipped his cap and walked away…  
…TO BE CONTINUED


	22. SMALL TARGETS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A handful of spent shells found on the grounds of the Presidential Palace during a photo shoot and word is leaked to the press that an unknown sniper may be threatening the Fuhrer--worse, he may be a sniper from a supposedly allied country.   
> Meanwhile, there has been a mole active behind the scenes, providing information to the Old Guard--a man arrested at the Palace earlier this year...

SMALL TARGETS

"I mean, who would want to harm the kids of the Fullmetal Alchemist—or President Mustang?"  
For about three seconds nobody spoke. Then Winry's coffee cup slid out of her hand. "I'll get you the phone, precious," Garfiel fussed. "Where's your address book?"  
#  
"Well, that's a shame, but if that's what Miss Rockbell wants, I'll tell Foster. We can still run Elycia's—great, that's fine. Okay. Call her back and let her know we'll kybosh the Elric kids…yeah, you could be right. Uh-huh. Yeah, don't want to piss off Mustang, either. Got it. Thanks, Gracia."  
Donal Samuelson leaned back in his chair and sighed. Would have been a great human interest story, but no meant no. Last thing he needed on his ass was Fuhrer Mustang, Professor Elric, Winry Rockbell and Gracia Hughes. He flipped his lighter open, lit his fourteenth cigarette of the day and dialed Charles Foster over at the Central Times.  
"Charl? Hey, buddy. Lissen, it's a no-go on the Elric kids. Got that straight from their mom. Gracia says she changed her mind."  
"Typical dame."  
"Yeah, well, that 'typical dame' has an ex with a damn short fuse—and that ex is shacked up with the Fuhrer—and the Fuhrer can singe the short hairs off your ass just by snapping his fingers. I worked damned hard getting an in with the President. I ain't blowing that for a bunch of cute kiddy pictures, savvy?"  
"Gotcha. Will do."  
Donal heaved a sigh of relief along with a mouthful of smoke. "So, how long you gonna work at the Times? This a permanent assignment?  
"Nah, I got bigger fish to fry."  
Donal sat up straight and reached for a notebook and pen. "Oh yeah? Like what?"  
There was a dry chuckled on the other end. "Letcha know when it hits the front page, pal."  
"Aw, come on," Donal taunted. "Known me since the war. You know I can keep a secret."  
The chuckle became a guffaw. "If I tell ya I'll have t'kill ya. Later, pal!"  
#  
"So let me get this straight—your 'green alchemy' can actually improve the yield of production for farmers in dry areas like the Eastern borders and Ishbal?" Charles Foster snapped another photo of Russell Tringham leaning against a whippy young apple tree, already heavy with immature fruit. The tree had been barely a sapling last spring when it had been planted in the Presidential Gardens at Rose Hill. Fletcher and Russell had used alchemy to accelerate its growth and Ed bet Russell a sizeable amount of cens that Russ couldn't put a bushel of their new hybrid fruit on Roy's table before harvest. Russell was already ordering the books he'd buy with his share of the winnings.  
. "That's right. And some of the new hybrids my brother Fletcher has developed will enable more foodstuffs to be grown in colder climates like the North. Russell Tringham mopped the sweat off his forehead. He and his brother Fletcher would be teaching agricultural alchemy at the Hohenheim in the fall and the Tringham brothers had planted several varieties of fruit trees in the garden at Rose Hill as an experiment, breeding a new type of apple they had called "Nash" after their father. It grew on a smaller, bushier stock and might be cultivated in smaller spaces in the city. Roy was eager to encourage their research and had suggested sending the Tringhams to Aerugo next year in a cultural exchange to help persuade Prince Claudio to become active in the Collegium project. "Some of our seeds were taken to Drachma as a gift this summer by the Elric brothers. It will be interesting to see what they—hey, what's this?"  
Russell knelt down into the soft, turned earth. A handful of spent shells glinted in his hand. "What the hell? Huh! How did these get here? You'd think somebody was shooting at the Palace…"  
#  
"WHAT?"  
"That's what I said, Donal. Somebody was shooting up the Palace. Was out doing a photoshoot with the Tringhams on the palace grounds and found a bunch of high caliber shells. I nosed around, asked a few questions and some handyman said they'd patched up a couple of bullet holes a few days ago. Said that the guard's up and doubled now. Betcha that's why the Rockwell dame didn't want her kids in the paper."  
Donal glanced at his watch. He was three hours from air time with the evening news. "You gonna break this one?"  
"I'd be a damn fool not to."  
'You got quotes from the press secretary?"  
"Headin' there now."  
"Thanks for the tip off, pal."  
"Any time." Straightening his hat, he strolled to the press entrance and offered his business card and press pass. "I know there's no conference today. Just want to know if President Mustang has any comment on the assassination attempts or the snipers that have been firing at his bedroom window?"  
#  
"Button your jacket, Breda! Cripes, you're a mess."  
Breda gave Havoc a once over. "You should talk. You got horse shit on your boots."  
"Lucky I don't have it in my hair. Sheesh, you try tailing Maes. That kid is trouble on two legs." He snuffed out his cigarette and scraped his boot soles on the grass. "Ed said that the reason kids are cute is so you don't wanna kill 'em. That means Ed must have been fuckin' adorable."  
"Yeah, well, let's see what kind of kids you end up with, Havo."  
"Right now she'd rather have a litter of puppies underfoot. And she still hasn't said yes."  
"She outranks you."  
Havoc shrugged and grinned. "Tell you what, though—anything happens to him and she'll use us all for target practice."  
Havoc didn't have to elaborate who "him' was.  
Breda approached the mike. "The Fuhrer President has issued a statement to the press in response to the story broadcast this evening on Radio Central regarding rumors of shots being fired in or around the Palace grounds or attempts on President Mustang's life. The President has responded as follows: 

"Throughout history, there has never been a government or a national leader that has gained one hundred per cent of public approval. Attacks on our government and the office of the President are not unexpected and have been prepared for. The high level of security at the Palace and our highly trained security staff have ensured my safety and the safety of my family, staff and associates. Our intelligence in the field has already been investigating the incident and will keep the people appraised of any perceived threat to the President, the Parliament or the nation. Thank you'. 

Now," Breda nodded to the crowd, "are there any questions?" A large microphone was thrust into his face. Damn it, he groaned inwardly. You were the idiot who broke this story we tried so hard to keep under wraps. "Mr. Samuelson, Radio Capital?"  
"Yes, I understand new information has come to light about the shells found on the Palace lawn."  
"Oh?" Breda tried to feign calm. "What information is that, Mr. Samuelson?"  
Donnal was mentally making room on his desk for another news award as he dug a black and white photo out of his briefcase. "The Times was able to obtain an up-close photo of one of those shells. Correct me if I'm wrong—Major Havoc is a ballistics expert, is that not correct?"  
Havoc approached the microphone. "Yeah, that's right."  
"If you look closely at the base of the shell, you'll see two concentric rings. Amestrian military bullets have one ring. These were the same shells that were pulled out of the bodies of soldiers slain on the Ishballan front, back when the Ishballan rebels were obtaining arms from the Aerugoans." He smiled a little. "Or am I misinformed?"  
#  
Prince Claudio's desk was a horrible thing to dust. Baldrick hated the damned thing, and cursed himself for neglecting it during Claudio's confinement to bed. Now that His Nibs was up and prancing around he'd have to keep it tidy again. He was down on his knees with soft rags and a can of furniture polish while His Nibs was scribbling out signatures on a pile of correspondence as high as his head.  
At least Bacalla wasn't around. It was annoying enough to be a servant—but to be treated like a servant by another servant—well, didn't that just crumble the biscuit and shit in your tea? He sighed and scrubbed at the clawed feet again, cursing the ugly furniture that looked like it couldn't decide if wanted to fly, crawl or peck your eyes out.  
Somewhere above his head the phone rang. Not any phone, mind you—that phone. The other phones in the palace went riiiiiinnngg-riiiiiiinnngg! This one went brrrratttt….brrrraaattt! like a wet fart. Appropriate, considering who was on the other end.  
"Uno momento, grazie—Baldrick? I can smell you down there. Get up where I can see you."  
He crawled to his feet and saluted. "Sir?"  
"Get out!" The servant retreated as far as the doorway and listened as keenly as his wax-clotted ears would allow.  
"Is that an accusation or an question, sir?" The Prince of the Dawn's elegant features contorted into an angry scowl. "Did Mustang state that-no, before you start a fire, I want you to contact Mustang directly. Get someone from his staff on the phone immediately." His palm slapped the top of his desk. "No, do not print anything of the sort. If you want an official statement, you can report that I am investigating the story personally and that at this time there are no changes in our policy with Amestris. No ho bisogno di questo bullshit! Do you understand! Now don't call me with rumors—get me the facts, capisca?" He banged down the receiver so hard he bruised his fingers. "La Madre lo scopa! "  
"Sir?"  
Prince Claudio rubbed his face wearily. "I know you're skulking out there in the hall, Baldrick. You heard this?"  
"I was, uh, polishing your nob—er, the knob on your walking sticks, and—"  
"Never mind. Keeping secrets around here is about as effective as keeping the toilets from backing up. It seems," he shook his head, "that someone has taken a few shots at Signor Mustang's bedroom window."  
Baldrick blinked slowly. "And…that's a bad thing?"  
"Much as I hate to admit it, yes, that is a very bad thing. I may not like the man but I admire his aims for the future. It would annoy me to have to break in a new Amestrian Fuhrer. And while I am loathe to admit it, this whole Collegium idea would benefit our country tremendously—not that I want Amestris to know that."  
'Cause then they'd lord it over us."  
Claudio snorted. "Let them try. The thing is," he continued, "the bullets fired are Aerugoan manufacture. We haven't traded arms across the border since their last war."  
"So….we didn't do it?"  
"As I said, I don't like the man. I don't want him shot. I'm not trying to have him assassinated."  
Baldrick looked shrewd. "Funny. 'Cos it seems to me you didn't get sick by accident like you did. You never got that sick before, pardon me for saying it. And you got sick right as they were leaving. I know I'm not the only person around here that's wondered if they didn't put something in your food or something."  
The Prince of the Dawn eyed him coldly. "The thought never crossed my mind. Now get out of here—and keep your mouth shut." He watched Baldrick stumping off down the hall on his bandy legs and his eyes narrowed. No, it didn't cross my mind—my father thought of it long before me. What is Mustang playing at? Some sort of mis-direction after attempting to kill me with germ warfare like Father suggests…?  
#  
"I see, Edward Tovarich…Alchemy makes people lazy."

"The hell it—ouch! Shit! Nobody told me we'd be expected to fix this place up!" He stood up, flexed, popped his back and glared at the blisters on his hands. When they arrived at the dacha in Komarovo, he'd been pissed to learn the place didn't have a phone. Or a proper ice box or a sound roof or even indoor plumbing. Even the Elric farmhouse when he was a kid had a toilet. The place had a shabby elegance dating back to the Gilded Age that reminded him pleasantly of his private nights with Roy in the reserved dining rooms at Aunt Chris' restaurant. They'd fucked their brains out in Room 5 on his last birthday and had snuck in there a time or two since then. And yes, the dacha even had a well worn green velvet chaise-longue much like the one they'd smeared in butter and chocolate and…well…if he thought too much about that night he'd be at risk of bursting thru his zipper and there was no point getting a hard on if he had no time to be alone and re-read Roy's letters.  
"Professor Lobachevsky made agreements with the landlady, "Pyotir had informed him. "We can stay for free if we paint it up—you know, fix the roof and the stairs, put in a garden. By the end of summer we will make light work of it and it will be very fine to see, da?"  
Al had laughed, the little bastard. "Brother can't drive a nail to save his life. He can't use a saw, can't drive a screw-"  
"—but he can screw his boyfriend, who is writing such letters that when Edward reads them on the train he must hurry off to the lavatory and lock himself in for a while Maxim taunted  
"—and comes out with wet hands and a red face." Alexi added with a grin.  
Pyotir pulled back his fist. "Enough, now! Edward has his own talents and you have your own. Alphonse, your breakfast was disgusting. As a cook you make a very good carpenter. And Maxim—you call that a decent coat of paint on the porch railing? Alexi, you lazy bastard, you told us an hour ago you would go to the village and get provisions and here you sit on your fat backside He seized a broom and swatted his friend. "Get going!" Alphonse, Alexi and Maxim all dashed out of reach, laughing and joking as they disappeared to their errands.  
"Here, I show you. It is not hard if you are taught right, and I am guessing your father did not have time to show you." A strong hand closed over Edward's shoulder and the blond Drachman grinned at him.  
"If you'd said that a few years ago I'd have raised hell that my dad was a useless bastard who ran off and left us and didn't teach me shit." Ed smiled a little. "Nowadays, after what happened in Central, I don't think that anymore. Me and Hohen—Dad. We're okay now, I guess. And no, I didn't get to learn it as a kid. Always had alchemy. Maybe Lobachevsky is right. Maybe it does make you lazy. Bet Teacher would agree. Always said we ought to learn to fix stuff with our hands first—"  
"—and you didn't listen. You were young. And you are never to old to learn, and one day you will teach your son and daughter to be useful. Now hold the nail—no, I show you. Like this."  
Stepping up close behind Edward, Pyotir placed his hand over Ed's, showing him how to hold the nail. "Da! Like that, yes. Now, the hammer—hold it so." The Drachman guided Ed's fingers around the hammer's shaft. He was standing close enough that Ed could smell his hair and the sweet mint tea on his breath. "Now…like this, strike it—yes, that's it…keep going…a little harder…yes…good….now you've got it all the way in! Perfect! I knew you could do it!"  
"Ooops! Forgot my shopping list! Am I interrupting anything?"  
"No!" Pyotir blushed and Ed looked puzzled for a moment before hoisting the hammer in triumph. "See! I can nail one!"  
Obviously that did not sound as he had intended, Maxim decided. "That is excellent, Tovarich. You can fix the front steps now and nobody will be at risk killing themselves!"

From the porch Ed heard Alphonse speaking to Alexi. "Now, when do we get to go on that devotchka hunt you promised me? I'm about as good with a gun as Ed is with a hammer, but I was thinking we could trap one for dinner?"  
Suddenly the air was split with a loud horn honking. Ed and Pyotir joined the others on the rickety front steps as a battered flivver chugged up the dirt road, belching clouds of steam and making such a fearful racket that housewives were leaning out of their windows and cursing them for disturbing their chickens. "If my cow goes off her milk from that noise, I will make Lobachevsky pay!" one lady shouted, shaking her fist at the new arrivals.  
"You're early!" Al called out, recognizing Alex Armstrong at the wheel and waving. "Thought you were taking the train!"  
"EDWARD ELRIC! ALPHONSE ELRIC! A MATTER OF NATIONAL EMERGENCY HAS COME UP—WE NEED TO SPEAK IMMEDIATELY!"  
A scowling Castellan Bacalla didn't wait for Armstrong to pull the hand break. Vaulting over the side of the flivver he stalked up the cracked sidewalk and angrily waved a copy of the Drachmiyskaya Gazeta, the official government paper that featured both Drachman and international news. "This…Is….An…OUTRAGE!" he bellowed.  
"What the fuck…?" Ed and Alphonse glanced at each other as the angry Castellan bore down on them. "You have offended my country with these lies!"  
"You've offended me by breathing, but there's not a damn thing I can do about that," Ed snapped. "Now what the hell are you yelling about, Peehole?"  
Bacalla furled the paper and flung it at the younger man. "Not that you can read it, but here."  
Ed snatched the paper mid-air and then stared at the headline:  
"MUSTANG TARGETED IN ASSASINATION PLOT—BULLETS IDENTIFIED AS AERUGOAN"  
All the color drained out of Ed's face. He shoved Bacalla out of his way and began running down the street. "ED! Where are you going!" Alphonse shouted after him.  
"To find a goddamned phone!"  
#  
He had given her the number before he left. "Look…if anything happens…y'know…if the kids need anything…or…whatever…this is the fastest way to get hold of me. Whatever you do, don't give this to anybody, okay?"

She dialed it now and her hands were shaking. The voice on the other end was smooth and instantly recognizable. "Good evening. Rose Hill. May I help you?"  
"Mr. Sebastian, this is Winry Rockbell. Are my children okay?"  
"Would you like to speak to them? They are right here…underfoot." There was a hint of wry sarcasm in that calm reply, although Winry was too distraught to notice. "One moment, please. Master Maes? Miss Nina? Your mother is on the phone. Come and say hello, please."  
At the sound of her children's voices her heart leapt up in her throat. A moment later she heard a throaty giggle. "Mama! Love you. Nina! C'mere! Talk to Mama!"  
"Maes, sweetie—are you okay?"  
"I 'kay! I got cocoa an' cookies. Nina spilled hers. NEEEEEENAAAAAA! Come on! It's Mama!" A moment she heard her daughter's gurgling laughter and felt weak with relief. "Where' s Uncle Roy? Can you put Mr. Sebastian on the line, honey?"  
"MISTERSEBBYYYYYYYYYYY! Mama wants talk with you!" Maes chanted and a second later the butler had taken the phone back.  
"Put Roy Mustang on the line now," she told him.  
"Yes, Miss Rockwell. It will take a few moments to route the call to him. Do you mind waiting?"  
I'll wait until hell freezes over. Get that bastard on the line. "That will be fine," she told Sebastian through clenched teeth.  
#  
It was a crappy hotel. All Central hotels were crappy as far as Foster was concerned—at least the ones he stayed in these days. Things were easier when he was on the payroll of the Bradley spin machine—feeding tripe and trivia and heartwarming stories about little Selim playing with his goddamn poochie on the palace front lawn. Back then it had been good cigars and brandy with his buddy Frank Archer, who was currently having to choose between singing hymns and going to church or getting his ass kicked by his born again Letoist cellmates, The Lonely Boys. That Mustang whore had arranged that, and Archer would kill her fat ass soon as he got parolled…eventually. In the meantime, he was willing to sing like a canary in exchange for smuggled booze and a chance of possibly getting a deal cut once the Old Guard was back in control of the Parliament.  
Edison, he glanced at his notes from their last conversation.  
He doesn't' want to kill Mustang yet. He says he got a look at Mustang's medical records while he was a Colonel. His psych records. Says he started acting strange—started acting against the military once Hughes was taken out.  
'Taken out'. That's a strange way to notate a murder." Foster had replied  
"There's notes in the file about a couple of incidents when Mustang and Hughes were in the Academy—about demerits for fraternization."  
"Any of it true?"   
" Yeah, according to Kimblee. He told me he caught ol' Roy-Boy on his knees, taking Hughes' meat up the ass and riding that pole like there was no tomorrow."  
"Kimblee turn 'em in?"  
"Nahh…but they didn't know that. But he filled out the report and once he got outta jail he handed the record over to Bradley. Understand he called that hot cunt Hawkeye in and made her read the whole thing out loud to him while he sat there drinking his tea."  
"Right. So we all know Mustang's a piece of ass. He's living openly with Fullmetal now. What's the big deal?"  
"So Mustang kinda went off his nut when Hughes died. Fucker's easier to break than we thought. Now we know the best way to get him is to get the ones he loves. The ones who depend on him."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I mean Edison said they tried it with Hawkeye, only he didn't crack for Goldtooth. Okay. So Edison figures we need to think a little…smaller…"  
"You mean a different target?"  
"A smaller target, Chuckie. You know what I mean?"  
Charles Foster knew what Archer and Edison meant. That didn't mean he liked it.  
He glanced at his watch. The prints he'd just made were almost dry, the pictures he'd taken in Gracia Hughes' front yard. Funny how Maes Elric looked just like his troublesome father, while Elycia Hughes bore only the slightest resemblance to the man who broke the code and figured out the truth about the Homunculi. His finger traced Nina's pretty features. "Smaller targets, huh? This should be interesting…..pretty interesting indeed."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	23. PARENTAL CONSENT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : Roy does the right thing and contacts Winry about the front page coverage of the assassination attempt. Ed and the Aerugoan envoy start a private little war. Meanwhile, ex-General Edison plans to destroy Fuhrer Mustang by killing someone very precious to him…

PARENTAL CONSENT  
by The Binary Alchemist

Roy Mustang had, in the course of his life, been shot, stabbed, burned, beaten, thrown off horses, slapped by a legion of angry women, gotten the crabs a time or two and had faced the terror of confronting Truth. And none of that, he sighed inwardly, is a damn bit of use in the face of what I've got to confront now.  
Edward's ex-wife was on the phone. And, if the discreetly amused look on Sebastian's face was any indication, she was pissed. "I'll take it in our quarters," he'd told the butler, striding away from his office, ignoring the inquiring look on Colonel Hawkeye's face. 

Our quarters.  
Mine and Edward's.   
He'd take the call, all right—but he'd take it sitting on the bed where he and Edward had twined and wrestled and shuddered and shouted out loud, laughing, because sometimes it was just so damn good. Where he could close his eyes and imagine it was early in the morning and he had just swung his legs over the side of the bed and was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and Edward would scootch over to wrap his arms around Roy's chest and bury his face into the nape of Roy's neck. There was the faint scratch of a very fine stubble so pale it was nearly invisible and morning breath and the muskiness of last night's loving, sweat and the smell of steel and machine oil. Roy would lean back into that warm, drowsy embrace and savor it—Edward unguarded, not yet awake, almost tender, hands and lips moving slowly across Roy's skin, making soft, contented sounds that didn't need to be words. It was the best part of the day, really. In a few minutes they'd be showering and shaving and he'd have to face the horrors of stepping into the bathroom moments after Edward and giving thanks for the fan that he'd had installed. That's proof of love, Roy reminded himself. That I will put up with your appalling bathroom stenches and your sarcasm and your stubbornness and your moodiness—and your ex wife calling me on the carpet because she thinks I'll get your—our—kids killed. Because you're worth it.

He eyed the liquor decanter on the sideboard in their sitting room-no. He did not need alcohol to face her. Hadn't facing Gracia been infinitely worse? Because, in the end, Maes had chosen what was safe and familiar—his stubborn and whole hearted obsession with the Amestrian Dream. Edward loved Roy for Roy, and frankly did not appear to have any twinges about their gender. Edward confided (and Al squeamishly affirmed) that Winry had complained—perhaps rightfully so—that Edward had little or no interest in sex and she had expressed her anger over his lack of interest in ways that escalated from tears and bitter words to wrenches swung in real anger. How strange, then, that I wake up in the middle of the night with his head between my legs, or that he will stalk into my office, lock the door behind him, shove the papers off my desk and inform me brightly that he's had Hawkeye schedule a half hour break in my itinerary for recreation—and why in the hell do I still have my trousers on? The only warning I have is that he usually remembers to take off his glasses before pouncing on me—other than that his appetite is keen and insatiable and his favorite method of sleeping is falling into a stupor after I've ridden him half raw. For all his inexperience he is learning quickly and I find I return to our bed every night with an appetite even stronger than when Maes and I were lovers.  
If she had any idea how he wears me out, he smiled as he reached for the phone, I don't think she'd ever speak to me again.

"Hello, Roy?" Well, what else should she call me? Fuhrer President? General? Sir?  
"Winry. I apologize that it took some time to get to the phone. I was in my office and it seemed more private to hold a family discussion in our private quarters." That rocked her a little. She was about to ask him what he meant by family but caught herself before the words slipped out. "The children are safe and have a personal bodyguard at all times, waking or sleeping. They have been since day one, even before we found out that there had been any suggestion of a possible threat."  
A tight knot of resentment had been rolling around in her guts since she'd seen the glaring headlines in the paper Garfield had thrust under her nose as she'd been holding the line for him. The fact that the first thing out of his mouth after 'hello' was the children are safe made that knot dissolve a little. He's protecting my babies. "H-how did you know—"  
"You're a mother. Your first concern is the safety of Maes and Nina. And as soon as I'd left the office I would have called you myself. Ed is not where he has a phone—I'm sending someone up to fix that, by the way—but I've sent a courier to get in touch with him. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were the first to be contacted. Seems that after they left the meat cutter's convention they went off on a short vacation—we are searching for them to see what they want us to do. Dr. Pinako—"  
"Why are you asking Sig and Izumi?"  
A pause. "They are the children's legal guardians." He said it simply. There were no implications in his tone. No judgment. "A decision needs to be made, and legally I don't have the authority to make it. Now," his tone became brisk, "We can evacuate the children out of Central—however they would not be under constant guard as they are here. We can keep them here. Jean Havoc has volunteered to watch over your family—and by that I include Dr. Pinako. My major-domo, Sebastian Corby, is providing back up-"  
"—you've got your butler watching them?" She couldn't believe her ears.  
"Sebastian? A moment. Would you mind going over your…credentials…with Miss Rockbell?" Roy handed him the phone, and the cool, soothing voice began to politely explain to her why three Fuhrer Presidents had trusted him to serve their tea, greet their guests…and garrote, stab, shoot, eviscerate and otherwise dispatch anyone who jeopardized the President's safety. "Of course, it goes without saying that if His Excellency were to intercept a compromise of the children's safety and well being that he would more than adequately dispatch them himself, although that would make it problematic, since it's a bit difficult to interrogate a pile of cinders. And if Professor Elric and his brother were here I guarantee that any intruder that met them would not survive long enough to be questioned—"  
She felt faintly nauseated. "Can I talk to Roy now?"  
The phone was handed back. "As I was saying, Winry, we can attempt to relocate the children, we can keep them here under close guard—or if you would feel better I can arrange an escort to bring you to Central and you may either stay with them here at Rose Hill or you may take temporary custody of them I can contact the Magistrate in Resembool to request a temporary change in custody due to a family emergency. But this is a decision you must make."  
"You're the President," she told him. "You can order me to do whatever you want."  
"I am not King Bradley." When she didn't answer, he continued. "I could order you, technically. I am President and that makes me responsible for this nation. But legally I'm not even their…stepfather. I have no rights under the law, and the Curtises cannot be reached. Dr. Pinako says that she will abide with whatever you decide, and Edward cannot get to Central from Stoltovgrad in time. You have made promises to the court in Resembool and to the Curtises that you will always put the concerns of the children first—and so has Ed. What do you want me to do?"  
Winry considered her options. Finally she said, "Do you think they are in danger?"  
She couldn't see the irony in his smile. "Everyone who surrounds the President is potentially in danger. Shots were fired at the Palace. I am the target. Ed and the children would be secondary targets. Kidnapping would involve getting access to the children—and until the threat is removed and the shooter is identified and apprehended, I will have to limit their activities outside the Palace. Ed has his own bodyguard working undercover in Drachma—"  
"He does?"  
"Yes, and he'd be furious to know who it is, since they don't get along well, but she's a sharpshooter trained by Colonel Hawkeye and exceptionally skilled in hand to hand combat." Ruby, after all, had been a security guard in Wisteria Valley when she met the Elrics years ago. The fact that she and Edward irritated one another so much would prevent the predicament he'd found himself in when he recognized that Hawkeye's feelings for him had exceeded the boundaries of command and had clouded her judgment when she believed he was dead. Ruby's affections were aimed towards Alphonse, and if for no other reason she would protect Edward for his brother's sake. "I'm also going to ask Maria Ross to provide back up protection for the children. I have every reason to be confident her dedication." His smile deepened. "So, what do you want me to do, Winry? A decision has to be made."  
He's right. He can provide ten times the protection that I can. And he's willing to let me come and see them. He….I don't like this…but he's right and he knows he's right. At least he's not rubbing my face in it. "For now…Roy…they'll be safer where they are, I think. Do you…who's doing this?" she blurted out nervously.  
"I have my suspicions. They've been biding their time. I don't think those shots were intended to hit me or go through the window. It's a ploy, Winry. They want to see if they can cause a panic. Terrorists are predictable. The best action is to keep calm and carry on. And if you are approached by the press….be careful what you tell them. Don't disclose anything I have told you in confidence. Right now, a simple 'no comment' will suffice. Be aware," his tone became very serious, "that the safety of your children could depend on your words and actions during this time. I'm counting on you—"  
"He means don't shoot your mouth off!" A familiar voice had cut in on their conversation.  
"Granny?"  
"S'me, all right. Come up if it makes you feel better, but Roy's got this place tied up tighter than a patulos anus muscle. And you know damn well that if anybody tries to get their hands on these kids they are going to have to get past me first—me and Chris, too."  
"Who's Chris?"  
She heard her grandmother inhale deeply on her pipe. "Chris Mustang, and she's the last person you want on your bad side. Not to mention Maes and Nina are the closest she'll ever get to grandkids. So….you comin' up?"  
Winry glanced at Garfiel who had been listening in. I think they're good, sweetie he mouthed. "Maybe later—just to visit."  
"That would be fine, Winry," Roy told her. "Let me know and I'll arrange an escort—oh, and if you hear from the Curtises contact me immediately at this number—I don't care what time. I or Dr. Pinako will keep you posted."  
"Thank you, Roy."  
"You're welcome."

"You okay, boy?" Roy glanced over at Pinako. She was holding out a neat shot of brandy. He waved it off. She shrugged and knocked it back herself. "You were dreading that." He nodded. "You're the one they want."  
"Most likely. But I meant every word I said. I'll protect Maes and Nina if I have to camp out in the nursery and sleep with my gloves on."  
The old woman patted his shoulder. "B'lieve you would, son. B'lieve you would."

 

It was well after dark when a weary looking Edward returned to the Dacha. He'd gone to the main drag of the village—if it could be called that—and called Roy from a payphone, only to learn his lover was on the phone to Ed's ex wife. He was patched through and was relieved that Winry had not demanded the children be sent to Rush Valley. "You talked to Claudio? You think the Aerugoan's did it."  
"No and no. He's next on my short list to call."  
"Good, because that asswipe Bacalla got here and all but declared a state of war between our countries."  
"Glad you told me. I'll inform the Prince and he can take Bacalla in hand."  
"Okay, that's a relief. And I admit, I kinda thought we should get the kids the hell out of town, but I know you'd roast anybody that tried to snatch 'em."  
"That's an understatement. And we have an evacuation scenario set up all ready."  
"What's that?" Roy told him and after the shock wore off Ed had to admit it was pretty damned brilliant. "Had to get your hands dirty, huh?"  
"Let's say Alphonse…inspired me."  
"Must've cost you a shitload of money."  
"I'll take it out in trade—and by the way, I was very disappointed when you didn't answer the phone when I called you in Stoltovgrad. The conversation would have been quite…uplifting."  
Ed grinned. "Bet you're not alone in the room, right?"  
Roy glanced over his shoulder. Pinako was helping herself to another shot of brandy. "How perceptive of you."  
"So if I told you that I got out that dildo Chen put in my toy box and sucked it off thinking about your cock and imagining I had you at my mercy with my tongue in your slit and three fingers up your ass-you wouldn't be able to tell me that you really get hot thinking about me doing all that, right?"  
"Affirmative."  
"Or," Ed leaned in close to the mouthpiece of the pay phone, "that as soon as I can find some hotel or someplace with a private phone I am gonna get my hands on a stick of butter and that other little item in there—I think you can guess which one I'm talkin' about—"  
"Perhaps."  
"—and I'm gonna get that rubber dick and that other item-and I'm gonna call you up and I'm gonna make you listen to every goddamn thing I'm doing to myself—and what I'm thinking about doing to you."  
"Really."  
Ed felt something twitch and shift inside his pants. He was starting to sweat. "Maybe I ought to make you suffer a little right now."  
"I wouldn't advise that. Where are you calling from?"  
Ed shrugged, "Just a pay phone in the middle of….town…"Ed glanced over his shoulder. A dozen Drachman locals were in line behind him to use the phone, and while some of them might not have understood everything Ed had told his lover, the Amestrian's tone of voice, rather expressive hand gestures and the bulge tenting out the front of his trousers filled in what they had missed. A toothless old woman giggled and pointed. An old man made a gesture of an arm being inserted up to the elbow and grinned. A small child leaned in for a closer look at the foreigner's pants front and promptly asked his mother what was wrong with the funny blonde man from the newspaper….

Pyotir met him at the lych gate, waving for his attention. "Edward! That friend of yours, the Castellan-"  
"—he's no friend of mine, believe me!"  
"—he's saying that the accusation in the papers—about the bullets fired at the President's palace being made by his country—that this is a declaration of hostility and that as sole representative of the nation of Aerugo on Drachman soil he reserves the right to forbid Amestrians access to Aerugoan territory!"  
"Well," Ed snorted, "if I suddenly get a wild hair up my ass and commandeer the Xerxes and fly my ass down to Aerugo and go visit my old buddy Claudio in his castle with the belching pipes and upchucking toilets I'll bear that in mind. What's for dinner?" He sniffed the air. "Smells good, so I bet my brother didn't make it."  
"No, Pio did. A rustic stroganov with beef. I had the recipe and he volunteered to do the cooking—"  
"Yeah, he's pretty good at that, I gotta give him his due—"  
"Da! But as it's bubbling away he asked your brother for a piece of chalk and then began drawing strange lines on the floor—he told me as soon as I saw you coming to bring you in to talk. I have no idea what is going on!"  
"That's fucking crazy."  
"That's international law. 'When a state of mutual hostility exists between two nations meeting in a neutral nation, the opponents have the right to designate areas of embassy where they may rightfully exclude their opposition from access'. There are eight people occupying this house: Pyotir, Maxim, Alexi, Dr. Chen, myself-and the Elric brothers and that Armstrong fellow. The Drachmans and Dr. Chen are neutral. As the sole representative of the Kingdom of Aerugo it is my right to have access to an embassy. So I have taken the liberty of chalking out areas which will be exclusively Aerugoan—"  
"Bozhe moi!"  
"No way!"  
"—and while our esteemed Drachman comrades and Dr. Chen may enter them freely, you and your brother and Mr Armstrong will not have access to those areas."  
Ed and Pyotir exchanged glances. "Never argue with a madman, Tovarich," Pyotir shrugged. "It will be all right. He will tire of this game soon enough."  
Ed agreed. "Yeah. Fuck it. Let's eat!"

"Help yourselves, gentlemen. It's in the kitchen." Maxim, lounging on the porch with an alchemy book and a bottle of local brew, jumped to his feet to follow them in. "Armstrong and Dr. Chen have gone to the telegraph office. Back in a bit."  
"Where's Al and Alexi?" Ed asked.  
"Alphonse was asking Alexi about a hunting expedition. They've gone off to the river to discuss strategy. They'll eat when the get back, so we must leave enough for three. Pio Tovarich, did you make enough for all of us—including Armstrong?"  
"There will be more than enough to go around." There was something odd about Bacalla's tone that made Ed instantly suspicious. His suspicions were confirmed as he headed for the kitchen and saw a heavy chalked line in front of the swinging door. Scribbled in front of it were was a message that made his blood boil:

Benvenuto all'ambasciata di Aerugo (Amestrians, mantiene fuori!  
("Welcome to the Aerugo Embassy(Amestrians, keep out!")

Pyotir's pale blue eyes began to blaze. "Nyet! That is not acceptable! You will immediately delete that and wipe out that idiotic line. We must all have equal access to the kitchen. How else will we be able to cook and clean?"  
"Do you own this dacha?" Pio inquired coolly.  
"Well…no, but-"  
"If you examine the boundaries I have conveniently delineated, you will see that I have separated the areas in a manner that allows each nation its fair share of square meters. Oh, and the parlor is neutral territory, open to all, as are the porch areas and main traffic areas. So you see, I have been quite reasonable."  
Edward stared at the Castellan. He smiled. "Be right back."  
When Edward returned, Pyotir passed him his own plate. "Not right that the madman should make you starve," he grumbled.  
"Wait a moment! That's contraband! You are trafficking with the enemy of the nation of Aerugo!"  
'I am giving him what is my own to give—and I'm going back for seconds—on a clean plate!"  
"And I," Maxim added, "am getting him a beer. Any problems with that, you can take up with the landlord…or my boot, which would fit very nicely up your zhopa!"  
Edward smiled benevolently. "Maxim….Pyotir….please, let's not make an international incident out of dinner. I'm sure that Mustang and the Prince will get this all straightened out. By the way, Peehole, this is delicious. You're a total dick but I can forgive you if you shut the fuck up and do the cooking."  
"I'll get you the recipe," Pyotir told him proudly. "My mother would thank you for your praise but then my babushka would tell you it was nothing and not to mention it. Perhaps I will take you to meet her sometime his fair cheeks began to color,-with your brother. Too. I mean."  
"Yeah, that would be good. Nothing like a home cooked meal—and if you've ever tasted my brother's stew you'd agree it's nothing like a home cooked meal."

Once they had finished, Ed cheerfully announced that, in view of the new border between 'the kitchen and no-man's land", Ed wouldn't be able to clean the dishes, sweep the floor or haul the garbage out. "Nope, don't want to cause an international incident," he sighed contentedly, stretching out on the battered chaise lounge, arms behind his head. "Where are you going, Peehole?"  
Bacalla tossed him a sour look. "Where a gentleman usually goes after a good meal—and since this dacha was erected shortly after the dawn of time, it necessitates a journey out to the Necessary." He bowed to the Drachmans. "Gentlemen, if you will excuse me….?"

A few moments later there was a howl of outrage from the general direction of the privy. "ELRIC! VOI BASTARDO!"  
"Translation, anybody? No?" Ed took a long. satisfied pull from his beer bottle. "Guess he just located the Amestrian Embassy…"

 

Nowadays, they just called him Edison. Or 'E'. Life had been hard in the years since 'the Good Gentleman' had been defeated and the death of his superior office, King Bradley. Behind his back his men commented about his lack of courage and initiative. "There's General Raven-and then there's General Craven." It galled him that he'd been physically overpowered by one woman—that Curtis creature—and captured by another. It had been sheer good fortune, not his own cleverness, that made escape possible and since then he'd been hiding in the outskirts of society.  
Bradley was dead. The "Good Gentleman", the creature known as "Father" was also gone, along with the mannequin army that had nearly eaten Edison. Grumman had stepped neatly into the catbird seat and that little toad—the one who had been blow-jobbing his way up the chain of commands, that Mustang—was now at the helm. Edison had been one of Bradley's top men before the walls of their fantasy world came crashing down.  
Immortality. He'd been promised eternal life and the government he served had reneged on that promise. Now he was nothing—worse than nothing, impotent and on the run, probably for the rest of his life.  
There were others. He outranked them. If he could somehow bring the Old Guard back together, they'd listen to him. "We can still make the stones. We have the data from Marcoh. What we need is time-and we've got to get Mustang out of favor." General Clemin was still in prison—would remain there the rest of his life if Mustang had anything to do with it.  
He might not have enough power or influence yet to unseat the upstart but he could chip away at the man from the shadows.  
He'd gotten his hands on Mustang's old medical dossier. The army physician had prescribed opiates for frequent headaches and sleeplessness. Laudanum. And there were reports of drinking bouts as well. It was noted that Mustang would frequently nap in his office, and while the general rumor was that Mustang had been out all night with his women Bradley's intelligence concluded that the depression, recklessness, weight loss and pallid appearance were proof that killing Maes Hughes had affected the young officer profoundly and that the opiates and alcohol might have been taking the upper hand. "Push him the right way and he might go over the edge."  
He scratched at his grey beard and examined the short list again. Any one of them would do. His nicotine-stained finger stopped at a name. "Distasteful, really," he commented aloud. "The Good Gentleman would call me weak." He flipped through the water-stained dossier that had been recovered from the rubble from the accident that had allegedly killed Bradley and Selim. Tucked inside the Mustang file was a document dating from 1904. "What's this?" It was a cadet hygiene booklet on fraternization, subtitled the particular friendships peculiar to gentlemen. There was a note scribbled inside. It was not Mustang's handwriting:

"The next time you wake up in the middle of the night to make 'sandwiches' with Hughes remember that I will be watching. Twenty demerits.'-ZJK  
"Kimblee."

"Making sandwiches' was a cadet euphemism for sodomy. Everybody knew that. Mustang had a yen for that, proved nowadays by his public relationship with Edward Elric. The brief mental image of Roy Mustang down on his knees being penetrated anally by Hughes made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. He glanced back to his short list, tapped an entry with the tip of his pencil. "That would be effective."

Five minutes later he called his contact. "Get hold of Foster. He can get us what we need. Make the pictures good. I don't want there to be any mistakes."  
…TO BE CONTINUED…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The references to Roy taking opiates refers tack to an illustration of Roy during Riza's narrative about the Ishballan war to Edward. In chapter 58 of the manga, page 21 (Viz Media edition) there is a montage of images of current events behind Riza's narration. The far left panel shows Roy apparently on a couch in his shirtsleeves, a sheet pulled up to his chest. One hand clutches the sheet while the other is pressed to his forehead. If you look closely at the table behind his head you will see a small paper bag with a red cross on it, a partially empty glass and what may be a crumpled paper pharmaceutical bindle—a type of folded paper packet often used to contain medicines in older days which were sometimes dispensed as powders (like our modern aspirin/caffeine-based headache powders in the U.S. such as B,C., Goody's or Stanback). Opiates were commonly prescribed for headaches and sleeplessness and were also included in patent medicines sold over the counter and by mail. Commonly dispensed as a tincture it was often combined with other substances to create pills or powders that could be poured in the mouth or in water and swallowed (again, like modern headache powders). It would be common for a physician to prescribe a laudanum compound, and was not considered in the early 20th century to be especially dangerous. Considering how often Roy is depicted with alcohol (more than any other character in FMA) and his penchant for falling asleep in the daytime (like in Scheska's file room in the Manga and Brotherhood) one could possibly make a case that in the days following Maes' death Roy might have suffered some side effects of taking laudanum or similar prescribed opiate for sleeplessness (ref the image in chapter 58) combined with alcohol. This is NOT to imply any drug abuse or addiction or prescription drug abuse—Roy is too disciplined a character to risk addiction. However his examining physician would undoubtedly make note that Roy consumes alcohol and has been prescribed medication for sleeplessness and or possible headaches.


	24. UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTHS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aerugoan snipers hunting President Mustang? Mustang plotting to kill Prince Claudio by germ warfare? An ex-general plotting to overthrow Roy? Rumors are running wild, and Edward and his friends have to come face to face with some very uncomfortable truths.

UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTHS  
By the Binary Alchemist 2012

Roy awoke to stiff muscles and a small rambunctious boy climbing onto his chest. "Unkaroy—whatcha doin'?"  
His lumbar region ached and when Maes bounced on Roy's chest the Fuhrer heard a few vertebrae pop in protest.

Cirrocco must have kicked me in the back while I was asleep—at least that's what it feels like. The armchair between the children's crib and cot was less comfortable than the fold out hospital chair he'd camped out in while Ed was laid up last winter after his head injury. He'd changed into a soft shirt and loose trousers but he'd kept his gloves on, even though he no longer needed them after going through the Gateway and meeting Truth. That he could now perform alchemy without a circle was not something he wanted to be common knowledge—it gave him a tactical advantage he wanted to keep to himself. He'd offered to put a privacy screen in front of Pinako's cot but the old woman laughed and refused, telling him that she was fairly certain she could defend herself if he was overcome with the urge to make advances on her.  
"Good morning Maes," he rumbled sleepily. "I got lonesome and decided to keep you and Nina company while you slept."  
'kay!" The boy crawled over Roy and peeked at his sister. "NIIIIINAAAAAAAA! Wake up!"  
Nina snorted and tugged the blanket over her head, acting so absurdly like her father Roy had to fight back a burst of laughter. "Nuh-uh. G'way, brudder!"  
"Niiiiiiinaaaaaa! Get up!" Maes grabbed the bars with both hands and swung on them, rocking side to side. Roy lifted him up and moved him back to his cot. He gently called the little girl's name, softly and invitingly, and asked if he could have a hug. Ed's daughter yawned, rubbed her eyes and grinned at him, holding out her arms.  
Roy scooped Nina out of the crib and was rewarded with a kiss. Winking at Maes, he confided, "Looks like you have your father's knack of persuasion. I haven't gotten to you a minute too soon, have I, son?"  
Pinako showed Roy how to help Maes into his clothes. It was harder than it looked and it took a firm word to make him settle down and stop wiggling so Roy could help him get his arms in the right sleeves. "You boys go down to breakfast. We'll be there in a few minutes."  
Roy and Maes answered "yes, ma'am!" in unison and headed down the stairs together, one step at a time. 

Pinako pulled back the curtain and rapped smartly on the balcony door. Jean Havoc stuck his head in. He'd been standing watch out there most of the night. "All clear on the perimeter, Dr. Pinako. All clear to step down?"  
"Yes, son. All clear. And don't look at me in my nightie."  
Havoc snapped to attention, jerking his eyes hastily in the opposite direction. "No way—I—I mean—no, ma'am!"  
#  
The first thing Kain Furey noticed when he drove up to the Dacha was an Amestrian flag flapping proudly in the morning breeze—from the roof of the privy. His thumb flipped the On button of his field radio. 

"Uhhh…Ruby? I'm seeing something at the dacha but I think it's my imagination. I mean, I hope it is—over."  
"Roger. What do you mean you hope it's your imagination? Over."  
"I mean there's….hold on please….no, it's real all right. Somebody's hung our national flag over the outhouse—and there's a sign on the door that reads 'Welcome To The Amestrian Embassy-Aerugoans, Keep Out!' I…don't think the Fuhrer is going to think this is very funny."  
Ruby slammed down her coffee mug and cursed. "Roy is going to skin him—and when it happens I swear I'm going to sell tickets and popcorn to the crowd. Better take a picture of it and wire it to the Big Boss. And see if you can get that little jerk to take it down—hey, do you outrank him? He's retired from the military, right? Over."  
"Negative. He retired with a promotion. Over."  
"Well…" Ruby shook her head in frustration. Damn you, Edward! Mustang trusts you to act like a scholar and ambassador and you can't get over yourself and stop behaving like an idiot! How the hell is the plan for the Hohenheim going to work if you shoot Mustang's plan straight to hell every time he trusts you? Might as well just declare war on everybody and open fire. Sheesh! "He's your friend. Go talk some sense into him. Tell him that if he can't get his shit together he might as well burn the Collegium to the ground. Ruby out"  
Kain was about as effective at reprimanding someone as he would have been dancing an erotic bump-and-grind in the Central red light district. But one of his finer qualities was recognizing both his own strengths and the strengths and talents of others. And there was one person who, without fail, could get through to Edward when nobody else could.

Kain found him down by the river and the young man Kain pinned his hopes on greeted him with a cheerful wave. "Lieutenant Fuery! Hey! What are you doing here?"  
"Good morning, Alphonse! I was up here attending a conference on communications technology. The Drachmans have made a lot of advances and Dr. Tesla from Stoltovgrad has been kind enough to share his data with me. I'm heading back to Central at noon, but Fuhrer Mustang asked me to wire in a field telephone before I left. He didn't know the nearest phone was in the village and since you and Ed and Castellan Bacalla are technically ambassadors he says its important for you to have access just in case something comes up and the Fuhrer or the Prince need to get in touch with you." He pointed towards the ensign waving in the wind above the outhouse. "Uh…I'm pretty sure you and Alex had nothing to do with…that?" he asked hesitantly.  
Al's cheery grin dissolved with a hearty sigh. "I love my brother, but sometimes he goes too far. 'Spose I'd better get that down."  
"But what's it all about?" Kain wanted to know. He trotted after the long-legged younger man as Al strode up the riverbank to take down the offensive display.

Al treated the flag—part of a welcome banner for the crew of the Xerxes—with respect, folding it carefully and handing it to Kain, who carried it out to his car. Ed's chalked sign was deleted with a clap of the younger Elric's hands. Digging in his pocket for chalk, Al scribbled a new message  
'WELCOME—OPEN FOR BUSINESS'   
He wiped his hands on his pants, surveyed his work and gestured for Furey to join him. "The Castellan saw that headline about the Aerugoan bullet casings found near the hole in the Palace wall. He thinks we're framing the Aerugoans and started acting….well…damn it, he and Ed both started acting like idiots. It was funny for, well, maybe about five minutes but it's gone too far. I'm putting a stop to this right now!"  
#  
"Hey! Al, this isn't funny!"  
Ed did not appreciate being summoned to the dining room, currently chalked out as "neutral territory" according to Bacalla's house map. Ed had been in the meadow all morning working on his glider with Armstrong and Pyotir and Maxim. Armstrong had been using alchemy under Ed's direction to put the parts together according to Ed's design. Pyotir and Maxim were there to observe and were both dismayed by the machine's appearance. The Drachmans were both fairly certain that the propellers on the glider were not supposed to look like Alex's fists, nor should there be spikes and skulls on the wings. Edward had been shouting at Alex that his self-portraiture wasn't part of his sketches and Alex had mildly pointed out that the aesthetic beauty of Armstrong muscles were far more pleasing to the eye than gargoyles and spikes and scales. Pyotir, who had been studying alchemy volumes since his visit last winter, experimented by chalking a small array on the tail, activating it in hopes of making it smooth and plain again and succeeding only in having the back half of the fuselage fall off altogether. Between Armstrong's obliviousness and Pyotir's embarrassment and the irritation of Maxim laughing and taking pictures of the now-tailless monstrosity, Ed was in a foul mood and the sight of Castellan Bacalla sitting at the table did not improve it.  
"Now, what the fu—oh. Good morning, Dr. Lobachevsky. It's good to see you." Ed quickly cut off the flood of insults and profanity and shifted his temper into neutral gear. Lobachevsky was one person whose respect was worth having.  
Glancing around, he noted Dr. Chen had joined them and was, oddly, seated at the head of the table with Lobachevsky at the opposite end, sipping a glass of hot tea and looking very serious. Dr. Chen rose and bowed. "Edward-sama, thank you for joining us. I have called an emergency session of the Collegium at Lobachevsky-sama's request. He has asked me to conduct this session as a neutral third country and he will do the same."  
Lobachevsky folded his long, narrow fingers and regarded Edward and Bacalla gravely. "The Collegium—the entire concept of peace on the continent—that President Mustang has staked his entire career and reputation upon and labored so hard to promote—is at risk because of two ambassadors who choose to let their personal disagreements take precedence over the good the Collegium. And Dr. Chen and I intend to find out why. Castellan, I shall serve as ambassador on behalf of Drachma and Dr. Chen for Xing. We are both neutral to the dispute and with one another. Agreed?" Bacalla began to sweat. Ed felt his stomach squirm. Both nodded. "Good. Dr. Chen?"  
The Xingese alchemist offered the warring parties each an apologetic glance. "I shall come to the heart of the matter, please. Edward-sama, you do not like the Castellan." He lifted his hand to forestall a heated response. "Please—if I may continue? Thank you. A simple yes or no will suffice."  
Ed glared at Bacalla. "No."  
"And Castellan, this is mutual, if I have correctly observed?"  
"Indeed," Bacalla shot back.  
"It is agreed that there are stories in the news and on the wireless that are not supporting confirmed facts about the bullets found on the Palace lawn in Central. There are also," he held up the morning paper, "unconfirmed stories in this morning's paper that the illness suffered by Prince Claudio this spring that he is now recovering from was linked to the visit from President Mustang-please to be quiet and let me continue, gentlemen!" Ed was turning red with fury and Chen feared Bacalla's fist was going to connect with Edward's jaw if he did not keep this discussion tightly under control. "Rumors of snipers. Rumors of germ warfare-and they are rumors. This is a tenuous peace we have worked so hard to achieve. Right this moment—right this moment—we can fall back into the darkness of the old days—the days of the Old Guard, when men like Cremmin and Edison and…others…in the corrupt regime nearly destroyed your nation—possibly this continent. Dangerous, self-serving men that were ousted from Amestris by brave people like Armstrong-sama and his sister and President Mustang-and you and Al-sama, Edward-san. You are so close to tipping the balance back to those days with your anger."  
"Dr. Chen is correct." Lobachevsky nodded in agreement. "Sometimes something so small as a momentary lapse of reason—a rumor, a word said in anger-that is all it takes to tear down what others have risked everything to rebuild. Think of your friends, Edward—I know you lost people close to you during the coup. There was a man—you named your son for him. Brigadier General Hughes. As I understand he was murdered by the Old Guard factions for uncovering the plot to use alchemy to murder the people of Amestris. Am I correct?"  
"Yeah." Ed felt a burning in his throat. He hadn't thought about that.  
"Castellan? Didn't your own Prince narrowly avoid assassination a few years ago in Amestris, right after the Armistice was signed?"  
Bacalla looked livid. "Mustang-"  
"—was working to protect your prince. And Edward risked being shot to save him from a sniper's bullet. Or hadn't you heard about that?"  
Ed's eyes cut to Lobachevsky's. "How did you—"  
"My informants are as good as yours—and the Prince's—and the Emperor's. I will not inquire if you support your prince, Castellan. That is not my affair. But when you were appointed an ambassador and part of the Collegium you agreed to be a peacemaker and a peace keeper. Edward, you as well. I know you support the President of Amestris in his aims."  
Edward and the Castellan eyed one another uneasily.  
"We are not suggesting that you must like one another," Lobachevsky continued. "But we are requiring that you cease hostilities for the good of the peace others have died for. Edward—if this seems hard….think of your son and daughter. Castellan—think of your own hide. It is apparent by your behavior," he concluded, "that is what is most important to you."  
"We have informed Prince Claudio and Fuhrer Mustang. A phone line will be connected to this dacha as soon as we are concluded." Dr. Chen nodded to the assembled group who remained completely silent during the confrontation. "I am sure they will want to discuss this with you personally."  
As the others filed silently out, Bacalla began to mop away the chalk marks he had made. Al clapped his older brother on the shoulder. "And you used to think being sent to the principal was bad."  
Ed grabbed a wet rag and followed after Bacalla, just to make sure all the lines were completely erased.  
#  
Bacalla flinched as he jerked his head back from the receiver as if his prince had slapped him. "I never said a word, Your Highness. Whoever 'sources close to the Royal Family' are, it wasn't me. Do you truthfully believe, Sire, that I would suggest to the foreign press that Roy Mustang tried to murder you?"  
Somewhere in Aerugo a pair of keen blue eyes narrowed. "You might if it served your own self interests. I sent you to Drachma because of your character failings, Bacalla. I am not especially fond of Mustang but I agree with him to a certain extent. And I am weary of war." There was a long pause. "It was your little friend, wasn't it? The Hall Boy. That cretin with the dirty fingernails. He was the one who leaked it to the press. Am I correct?"  
Bacalla thought back to his discussion with Baldric before he was shipped off on this madman's mission to Drachma with those insufferable Elrics:

"Well, of course it was an assassination attempt, dolt! Is anyone else ill like His Highness? Take into consideration the timing of his collapse. It was within days of the departure of the Xerxes—and note that Mustang has been conspicuously silent since his return to Amestris."  
"Well…if someone's attempting to do in the Prince, shouldn't we get all up in arms over this? I mean—it's not like there's a dance card full of half blood bastards out there to get tapped in his place…"  
"I'm not fond of him, but I daresay he's got a keen head on his shoulders and the people love him. He'll do better than some of those syphilitic ancestors of his. I suppose we need to be sure he pulls through and then fret about revenge later."  
"Oooh! You mean you get to send me out to do someone in? Can it be Edward Elric? Please, sir, let me do in Edward Elric! Every time that bastard took a shower all that long blonde hair of his clogged the drains and we had sewage backing up for days—and then he'd bitch about the smell."  
"Nobody's killing anybody, Baldric. Not yet…."

A bit of palace gossip with a thick-headed dolt, about as sharp as a bag of hammers. Bacalla wasn't really scheming to do in anybody. He was a little man with a lifetime of thwarted ambitions and a great deal of cleverness that could have been put to better use. And now it was all flying back at him, in public, and his prince was furious—and the old man, the Sun King, may have abdicated but he might want to go back to decorating the parapets of the castle with severed heads like in the good old days. "Sire-he's a harmless nob who is mercifully bereft of the ravages of intelligence. Surely nobody gives credence to the babblings of a moron?"

On the other end of the line, Claudio Rico smiled grimly. I've got him. "Any idea where Baldric may have gotten such ideas if he is as ignorant as you suggest he is?"  
Bacalla began to babble and stumble of his words, and if he'd been in the royal audience chamber Claudio would have been hard pressed not to laugh at him. Yes…I've ferreted you out, you nasty little man. Getting a simpleton to do your dirty work for you so you can undermine me. Ugly business—wonder what you might know about those rounds that were fired at Mustang's estate. Time to call Central, I suppose. "Peace! Enough!" The Prince's voice became sharp now. "I have a new commission for you, Signor Bacalla. You have as of now been removed from the Castellan's post. From this moment on, you are the official Sunshine Ambassador of Aerugo. I heard about your little performance before the crowd in Stoltovgrad. Singing with children. My, my. It very nearly brings a tear to my eyes—except that I happed to know about the incident on the Amestris train with the son of Edward Elric. At least you didn't disgrace us by spitting on them. So—from this moment on, I hold you personally responsible for winning the hearts of our foreign friends—and for making damned sure that this whole nasty assassination business is laid to rest-permanently. If you can improve our image and make peace with the Amestrians, you will regain your title and all the benefits that go with it—including your personal estates, which, by the way, you have just lost along with your Castellan's rank. Fail me," his voice became sweetly poisonous, "and you'll be reacquainting yourself with my father's rubber duck as Bath Boy once again. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"  
Bacalla turned very pale. If he didn't want to go back to Washing The Royal Anus again, he'd better start kissing Ed's.  
#  
"He's a douche….but I said I'll stop raggin' him and I meant it and…and…whatever. Okay?"  
"Okay."  
"And one of these days," Ed added, "you're gonna get drunk and admit that I got him good."  
There was a soft growl. "Possibly," Roy answered noncommittally. "I'm calling Claudio soon as we get off the phone so we have to make this quick."  
Something shifted in Ed's pants at the sound of that low, seductive voice. "How long, exactly?"  
"Not long enough for what you have in mind."  
"Damn."  
"I'll call tonight."  
"Fuckin' straight you will. You owe me."  
"You were the one who slept through my call. By the way, how is the glider coming?"  
Ed frowned. "Go a whole lot faster without Armstrong. Geez, everything he works on becomes some freakish looking work of art." Somewhere in the background Roy heard Alphonse and what sounded like the Drachmans whooping with laughter over Ed's idea of "freakish looking art". Someone called out, 'tell him about the spikes and skulls, Ed!'  
"When do you think you'll be ready for your test flight?"  
Ed calculated mentally. "Classes start in two days, so I'll be busy during the week—but I'd say we'll mount the engine up if it works according to my designs-give it a month. Man, that will be something, huh? The first heavier-than-air craft with a gas powered engine. It's going to work, Roy. It's gotta work. I feel like I'm really on the bring of something that's gonna change everything we know about air travel."  
"Just be careful," Roy cautioned. "I know 'safety third' is your personal model, but let's do this one by the books. You've got to get it off the ground first. Have you got a name for it yet?"  
Ed grinned. "Well, 'In Your Face, Mustang!' was my first choice-"  
#  
He felt odd. Very good, but very odd. It was like his skin was too tight and his heart was beating out of rhythm. It was exhilarating and it scared him and made him feel guilty about Nicholai, off at sea, so far, far away.

They had been working on the glider and it had gotten hot and Armstrong had peeled off his shirt to reveal a mountain of rippling flesh that Pyotir was not inclined to touch or admire. Too much obsession with the body means not enough attention to the mind. Not that his Nicky wasn't nicely built, he reminded himself, or that he had anything to be ashamed of as he shucked off his own shirt and enjoyed the cooling breeze on his sweat-drenched skin.  
Then Edward did the same and everything changed.  
"I have a lot of scars." That was all he said.  
Pyotir never noticed them. He noticed everything else.  
So golden…the muscles so finely cut when he raises his arms and I can see his body, just a little. Hs sweat smells like steel but his hair smells sweet and clean like a child's. It looks soft to touch. When he sits alone those wolf-gold eyes are often so sad…and he sits alone so often, it seems. I wish… There was that peculiar thumping in his chest again and he sighed, ruffling his own short hair, paler than the Elric brother's. His wide cornflower eyes turned to the comforting beauty of the river, but the vast field of sunflowers in the field beyond where Ed's glider was parked made him think of bright hair slipping through his fingers and what it would be like to touch that tanned shoulder, to press a kiss upon it. Nicholai was so different with his crow-black curls and laughing eyes, his songs and dances and the way no one was a stranger to him. Mine is a quieter light. Mine is not to shine so, like Edward and Nicky. All these vibrant young men-the dashing Alphonse, the mad pranks of Alexi and Maxim—even Pio with his theatrical speeches and tempers—such a genius with spices and herbs! They are ten times more alive than I will ever be. Perhaps, if I can master alchemy I too can be of use to this world…and to Edward..,  
#  
"They aren't yours. You didn't order this."  
"You are correct, Roy. Aerugoan arms crossed the border during the Ishballan conflict. They are not being traded at this time, or so my informants are telling me.  
That is more than you were willing to admit when Dr. Marcoh was cutting your country's bullets out of the bodies of my men. That's a step in the right direction, at least. "And as far as 'germ warfare', Highness, I've had my best men on this, going back to the Bradley era. Amestris had State Alchemists, and our laboratory research was directed—in those days -towards alchemic weapons, not biological weapons. Fuhrer Bradley, as you well recall, was a man who didn't waste time. If he wanted to attack you, he attacked you head on with alchemists and bullets or in the shadows with…" Roy stopped just short of admitting to the existence of chimeras,—stealth troops. But germs? No. Not his style. And," Roy emphasized, "not mine. Unlike Former President Bradley—"  
"You are not a monster. You have done hideous things, but it sickened you. Bradley was a beast." Silence. "Ah, Roy—did you think I did not know who you were up against from within your own ranks? Why do you think the Sun King allowed arms to the Ishbalans? A monster was consuming them and you had officers within your own army who worked at cross purposes from within, Ishballan by blood and birth, who came to us and begged my father to give arms to the smugglers. He wanted Bradley dead. He hoped the resolve of the Ishbalans might accomplish that. And when they failed, he locked our borders and allowed them to die. That is not what I would have done—but that is what occurred.  
"I was sent to sue for peace. The treaty was signed—because my greatest concern as Prince Regent was that he would turn his wrath upon Aerugo, and having read eyewitness reports of you, Flame Alchemist, in battle, I knew I could never let you cross my borders with the intent to incinerate my cities and my people. They are mine to protect, and if that meant swallowing my disgust and shaking Bradley's hand, then by damn I would do it."  
Roy was at a momentary loss for words. "You know what I did in the war."  
"More to the point, I know what you did after Bradley's fall, Brigadier General. That you returned to the desert and dedicated yourself to the rebuilding of the Ishballan nation and its people. The very people you slaughtered in your youth. I know that you were cursed and spit on and you did not run. I know you were shot and wounded—and you did not run. I know that a legion of crippled and maimed and widowed and orphans demanded accounting from you—and you answered them. That, in my opinion, makes you a man who might be trusted. So I will ask you, Roy Mustang—did you or your people try to kill me—and do you intend to harm my people?"  
'All I can give you is my word, Highness. And for the record," he added, "Edward thinks you were trying to kill me. He's not alone. According to my personal physician I contracted a not so common gram negative bacterial pneumonia. I almost died too. And I contracted it in Aerugo."  
"I know. I had the same illness. Had we trusted one another enough to talk—"  
"-we have a cure, developed by Dr. Chen. A beta-lactam penicillium, alchemically modified. It saved my life, and if you need it, it is yours for the asking."  
After a long pause, Roy heard the prince's laughter. He sounded very, very tired. "I would appreciate it, even though I am recovered. And perhaps, if we are fortunate, we will find the source of the illness that nearly deposed us both. Perhaps it is less malevolent than we suspect."  
#  
"Good to meet you, sir."  
"So you're our man on the ground."  
"You could say that, General."  
"You got the pictures?"  
Reluctantly, Charles Foster handed the folder to Edison. "Here you go."  
Edison peered over his glasses and stared at the reporter. "You don't agree with me. I can see it in your eyes."  
Foster shrugged. "It's just…kids. I mean, is there another way? There has to be. Edward—maybe Alphonse—"  
Edison shook his head. "The dripping of water wears away a great mountain. Termites can collapse a palace. One small pebble can start an avalanche.' The general held up a photograph. "Here's the pebble. Mustang is unstable. I've been collecting data on him ever since it was clear Grumman was going to nominate him as his successor. Mustang has been bleating that he wants to bring back general presidential elections in the future. I want to seem him fall, Foster. I want to see him out of power. Let him go back to his damned desert with those filthy red-eye'd madmen he's so fond of. Let him die out there." He chuckled into his coffee. "You know why Grumman stepped down, hey? Didn't have a thing to do with his age."  
Foster nodded. "Scandals about…young women. He was—"  
"He is an old goat who can't keep his hands off their bottoms." He tugged reflectively on the end of his beard. "To avoid scandal, he stepped down and gave the reins to his favorite dog. And I have enough on him. I just need that one little pebble to take him down under his own avalanche. "  
A packet, bulging with cens notes, was passed across the table. Foster stared at it. Then he nodded at the old man in the old uniform that didn't fit him as well in the glory days of the Bradley regime."  
"Good luck, General."


	25. ALPHONSE AND THE GREAT DEVOTCHKA HUNT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Al’s popularity with the local girls has irritated his friends in Drachma—and they decide to send him out on the alcohol-soaked version of a Snipe Hunt. Meanwhile Pinako learns that for Roy the war in Ishbal will never truly be over.

ALPHONSE AND THE GREAT DEVOTCHKA HUNT  
By the Binary Alchemist 

July was just around the corner when Roy finally heard from Izumi—indirectly.

He'd gotten into the habit of talking into the evening with Pinako once the children were asleep. There hadn't been any more rounds fired at the Palace and the there had been a slight cooling of the media firestorm that followed the leak that the shells retrieved from the grounds were of Aerugoan manufacture. Still, the people were uneasy. Public statements from both Roy and Prince Claudio affirming cordial relations and denying any attempts to bump one another off helped some, but there was yet a rumbling undercurrent that neither leader could completely squelch. So Roy continued to camp out on the chaise and sleep between Nina's crib and Maes' cot, and once the children had dozed off the two grownups might share a glass of limonchello or Stray Dog and over time any awkwardness vanished, at a point neither one of them could pinpoint.  
She was remarkably easy to talk to. There was something refreshing about talking to a little old lady who was immune to his charm. She didn't hang on his every word or get flustered or blush or, like a certain Colonel who served him, he didn't see unrequited yearning hidden in her eyes. Like Aunt Chris, she'd call him an asshole in a heartbeat, call him out if she thought he was wrong—and judged him only as a man, not a legend.  
"She has an apprentice who's taken sick—that's what she told me when she called. Says she and Sig are needed and she knows the kids are in good hands and are well protected if they are here. Do you mind?"  
Roy shook his head. "Does Winry? You know I've invited her here. Told her that any time she wants to come see the children I'll have a private escort bring her to Central and she is welcome to stay here with us."  
"Winry told me she may be up in a few weeks. She'd like to see Gracia and Elycia. Says she saw that big color spread on the two of them and that she can't believe how fast Elycia is growing up." A tangy mouthful of limonchello was followed by a bite of one of Chef Ramsay's delicate butter shortbread biscuits that Pinako liked with her tea in the afternoon.  
"It's hard to believe how long it's been since we came back from the war and Maes and Gracia got married. Feeling old, I suppose."  
Pinako snorted. "You're a boy to me, Roy. I will say this, though—for someone who doesn't know which end of a nappy to pin you're good with kids."  
Roy glanced down at Maes, whose head was heavy against his shoulder. He shifted the child carefully and lowered him down onto his cot, tucking the sheet around him and putting his raggedy stuffed kitty on his pillow. "I haven't a clue—that's obvious, I suppose. Never been around kids—not even when I was one. If I was one. My childhood ended the day the told me my father had been killed in Creta."  
The old woman mouthed the stem of her unlit pipe. "Tell me about him,"  
Roy leaned back against the chaise cushions and closed his eyes. "I was so young—but I was older than Ed said he was when Hohenheim went away. I remember him as being…very kind. He was a State Alchemist but he had his start in the cavalry, just like my grandfather. I remember seeing him ride up in his uniform, looking every inch the proper military officer. I don't remember him every wearing anything other than that blue uniform. He had a very quiet voice and whenever he looked at me, even if he was serious, his eyes were kind. Maybe he didn't act the way Hughes did. Maybe he didn't behave like an idiot and shove my picture in people's faces or that sort of thing. What I do remember was being introduced to his commanding officer and Father calling me his 'little soldier'. I saluted the officer and I remember the commander saying that my father must be proud to have such a fine son and Father putting his hands on my shoulders and saying 'I don't think I really understood until now why we serve. We serve to protect the future. So I can give Roy the best future possible. I want to make him proud of me.'"  
The old woman nodded. "He loved you."  
"I believe that he did."  
"And you loved him."  
"Don't recall ever telling him." One scarred hand smoothed back Roy's dark hair from his forehead. "Ed never told Hohenheim. He says that he hated him until …that day. If he feels sad about it he doesn't mention it."  
"Still, he put flowers on Hohenheim's grave, as well as Tricia's."  
"That's something, I suppose. Better than nothing."  
There was a long silence and from his quiet breathing Pinako was sure that Roy had fallen asleep. She moved to take the glass from his hand. His fingers tightened around it, although he never opened his eyes. "Tell me how to be a father, Pinako. I don't understand these children. I try to feel what…I guess I'm supposed to feel…but I don't….I'm not like Hughes with Elycia."  
"You're being stupid. Don't you think I'd tell you if you were doing it wrong?" Smiling, she tugged the glass out of his hand. "Don't borrow trouble. Trouble comes fast enough on its own. Goodnight, son."  
He didn't stir, but later, after she'd switched off the lamp and the room was warmed by the flickering glow of the night lamp, she distinctly heard him mumble, "Goodnight, Granny."  
#  
"There goes another one," Pyotir observed drolly, glancing up from the pile of assignments he was grading. As Ed's teaching assistant he was invaluable bridging the language gap that sometimes occurred when Edward would get excited and rattle off faster than his students could comprehend. He also could not avoid noticing the lovely young women—and handsome young men—who became smitten by the wasp-tongued Amestrian professor. Alchemic History, Theory and Ethics was rivaled only by Introduction to Practical Alchemy in popularity. Indeed, the school seemed to divide its loyalties into two factions—those fascinated with Edward and those frankly in love with Alphonse.  
Ed didn't glance up from his notebook. "Another what?"  
"Another hopeless admirer dawdling past your open door in hopes of catching you alone, Tovarich."  
Ed shrugged and slurped his coffee noisily. "So? Door's open. "  
"They aren't interesting discussing their lessons. They are interested in…shall we say…private tutoring."  
Ed shrugged again. "I've got open appointments. All they have to do is sign up with you, right?"  
"Are you truly that naïve, my friend?" Pyotir tossed his pen to the desktop. "You have ladies who would like nothing more than to be alone with you for an hour in your office. They…" he gestured helplessly as he struggled to find the right phrase," see you as…a challenge."  
That got Ed's attention. "Challenge? What the hell are you talking about?"  
"You are a…a fine…I mean, you are…they find you attractive. And," he stammered on, coloring, "you are…with a man. A very powerful man."  
Ed snorted. "Let's not inflate his ego any bigger than it already is. He's Roy. He's no different from any other guy that shits behind good shoes. He's got a big job—but Mustang is Mustang. No big deal." The whole topic sounded ridiculous and frankly Ed didn't want to hear any more of it. "Whatever. Send 'em down to Al's office. Not interested." His fingers slipped down to unbutton his waistcoat and he wrestled with his tie. "Damn. Hot as hell in here."  
Pyotir quickly focused his attention on the paper he'd been staring at for the last five minutes. It was upside down. "Da. Very hot indeed."  
#  
Maxim Petrovsky and Alexi Andreivitch were sitting in the back of Al's empty classroom with their heads together and their voices low. This was a certain indicator that trouble was afoot but Alphonse was being mobbed by pretty young students who wanted to see him transmute the small objects they had brought with them. Smiling, he did as they asked and with each transmutation the oohs and ahhs and ohhhs got louder and more enthusiastic—so much that anyone passing the room would have remarked-  
"Alphonse! Are you conducting some sort of perverse orgy in there?" A peevish looking Signor Bacalla stuck his head in through the door, a smear of flour on his left cheek. His class on Known World Cuisine was also hugely successful—owing less to his popularity and more to so many lovelies and gents wanting to learn to make delicious Amestrian dishes to attract the brother's attention. "Can you hold it down before our soufflés collapse? If I have to hand out failing grades today it will be your fault!"  
Maxim glanced at Alexi. "See what I mean? When was the last time any of your students flirted with you?"  
"Only to get the address of the dacha so they could 'bring him a cream bun', or so she said. Bozhe-moi!"   
"Da! And he does not touch them since they are his students, or he would be tasting so many cream buns his tongue would fall off! What is the attraction, Alexi? It is not like the girls have never seen a blond man before—"  
"—not that shade of gold—"  
"-or such broad shoulders—"  
"-Signor Bacalla's are as good—of course he got that way from pounding his own dough—"Alexi snickered at his own joke.  
"—or eyes that—well, maybe not. They are very strange eyes. Odd like a wolf's."  
"Ah! I think you may have it," Alexi nodded emphatically. "With Edward, it is the long hair and the fact that he sleeps with a man that makes him unattainable. This is irresistible to the ladies, we know. But our friend, Alphonse—he is so ordinary! It must be the wild wolf's eyes that make the girls shiver—"  
"-and get wet—"  
Alexi shivered. "Da! And to my horror, what did I see last Sunday? MY Nataly—my delicious Nataly—offering her sweet cream and butter to that upstart Amestrian. She told him he could come to the milkhouse and watch her churn her cream and then if he liked he could…lick her dasher! " His hands curled into fists. "Nobody can like Nataly's dasher but me!" His teeth gritted in frustration as he thought of running his tongue slowly and thoroughly over every inch of the dripping dasher while Nataly watched, and if her hand wandered under her apron and her face became quite flushed by his skills it only encouraged him to more inspired swirls and flicks and flourishes. "One of these days…she will even let me kiss her…I hope!"  
Maxim stared at his comrade. "Before engagement?"  
Alexi nodded. "So we must put a stop to this, my friend." He glanced over his shoulder. "I think it is time," he whispered, "for us to take Alphonse Tovarich hunting…."  
#  
A flicker on the walls. Stone walls, riddled with bullets and splashed with blood. Shadow moving—wait—it's moved again…there!

Shadow on the wall. Something inhuman moving through the streets of an Ishballan village. 

They know this shape. Their mothers had told them to run-run-run, run for their very lives if this shadow is seen in the noonday sun. "You must not wait for the flash. If you see the flash then it is too late to run and you must quickly whisper a prayer to our god that He will carry you to His side and that you will not feel the pain when the end comes."  
The only ones left alive to tell the tale are those who were on the outskirts and already running before they saw the shadow. "Their eyes melted in their sockets" the villagers were told, oozing and bubbling down their cheeks seconds before their flesh began to crisp and the hair burst into brilliance.  
"He is coming."  
The monster would cast his shadow on the walls—on the faces of the children who screamed and were too frightened to run. They sobbed. They wet and soiled themselves and squirmed and huddled and pressed themselves into the corner of the rubble, too afraid to remember the prayers they were supposed to say when Death came for them.  
And the winds would come and the flash would come and their flesh fused to the flesh of the other children, making them one people just as Ishballah had wished, and between the next heartbeat and the last breath they were reduced to drifts of greasy ash and bits of charred bone.  
The shadow would move on, and move on, and move on.  
And eventually there were no more children left to scream.  
The shadow of a monster with the shape of a man—

He was screaming. Jacknifing up into a huddled tangle of arms and legs and he was screaming screaming screaming and they were screaming, the children of Ishbal were screaming in his ears, right in his ears and he couldn't get away and he couldn't stand it anymore and-  
And Pinako slapped him. He woke up.  
"Shhhhh. It's all right. Uncle Roy had a very bad dream, Maes. Nina, it's all right. It's all right. Everybody calm down." She switched on the light and pulled Nina out of her crib, jiggling her and patting her back. Roy looked terrible. If I had memories of the war like the ones he's told me about, I'd scream too, I guess. "Roy. Are you awake?" His Excellency, the Fuhrer President of Amestris, blinked at her, wild eyes and drenched with sweat. He swallowed hard and nodded.  
Maes crawled up onto his lap. He held out a stuffed cat to Roy. "Kitty help." Roy nodded. The child curled his arm around Roy's neck and Roy almost flinched. I burned children like you and Nina and Elycia.  
Pinako saw the terror in his eyes. Deliberately, she placed her great granddaughter in Roy's arms. "No more running, son," she told him firmly.  
Nina looked terrified. Roy didn't know what to do. He stared helplessly up at Pinako. "Tell me what to do."  
"Rock her. Sing to her."  
"But I-"  
"Sing to her. Sing her a lullaby."  
"I don't know any. I never heard one."  
"That explains a lot of things, son." Pinako nodded. "Sing something else, then. Softly."  
After a long time, a low, soft baritone began to sing a song that was popular on the old wind-up phonograph in the parlor of Madame Christmas' brothel back when her dashing brother had just been cut down in the field, leaving a very frightened and very lonely little boy to her care:  
"I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier,  
I brought him up to be my pride and joy,  
Who dares to place a musket on his shoulder,  
To shoot some other mother's darling boy?   
Let nations arbitrate their future troubles,  
It's time to lay the sword and gun away,  
There'd be no war today, If mothers all would say,  
"I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier." *  
#  
"What the hell are those two idiots up to?" Ed glanced around side of his wing chair and nodded in the direction of Alexi and Maxim who were heading out the door with a great deal of whispering and nodding, hauling a bundle and a very large empty burlap sack.  
Bacalla stuck his head out of the kitchen. "I don't know, and I'm not interested in being enlightened. I will observe, however, that whatever they're up to involved ransacking my pantry—and that is simply not on."  
'My pantry' he says." Ed rolled his eyes. "What—is the Sunshine Ambassador out of cookies and milk for his tea party?" He made a simpering gesture. "I suppose you could make do with teething biscuits and lemonade or he noted the withering expression on Pyotir's face and stopped before things escalated any further.  
Pyotir tossed him a grateful smile. "What is gone, Pio Tovarich? I can run to the market in the morning if you like."  
"Well," the older man sniffed, "I had a box of salted herrings-and there is a bowl of borsht missing from the ice box-"  
"Yum, yum," Ed snickered. "Eat borsht and take a crap and it looks like your insides just fell out. No thanks. So what the hell do Alexi and Maxim want with herrings and borsht?"  
"More to the point," Bacalla grumbled, "what do they want with borsht and my herrings—"  
"-and Alphonse," Pyotir finished. "I suppose," he sighed, "we'd be better off not knowing."  
#  
"Now then, it is important to follow the time honored tradition for hunting devotchkas," Alexi intoned solemnly.  
"Time honored, da," Maxim affirmed. "You must disguise your human scent. Devotchkas do not like the smell of humans…and they are very fond of fish-"  
"—sometimes they smell a bit like fish, if they haven't been washed enough—"  
"—exactly so! So you will rub yourself down with the herrings—like this."  
Stripped to his undershorts, Alphonse scooped up a slimy handful of the pungent fish and rubbed them briskly all over his chest. "Okay, now what?"  
So wide-eyed and innocent, our friend! Alexi thought wickedly. Let us see how popular you are after this adventure! "Your color—your hair, so bright! You will attract the wrong attention to yourself. Now, devotchkas only see in three colors—black, white and purplish-red. Like pussycats, I understand, although it is not altogether certain what…pussies…can perceive. So it is best, my friend, if you rub this borsht in your hair so that the devotchkas will see you and become interested."  
Once he had toweled the last of the grated beets and broth out of his hair the soft thatch had been tinted a vivid magenta. "What's next, Maxim?"  
"You drink three shots of vodka for courage—it is custom, so you must do it—and three shots of this oil of the cod's liver, one after the other—"  
Al flinched at the thought of drinking cod's liver oil under any circumstances. "Is that really part of the tradition?"  
"Da!" his friends affirmed. "It is a test of manhood," Alexi added. "And you must sing! Here, I teach you the hunting song—it is not in Drachman, not as you know it. It is one of the old country dialects. It roughly means, 'oh, you lovely devotchkas, come and feast with me! I have herrings, lots of herrings that I will give to you if you will come and feast with me.' Now listen and repeat after me:  
О вы, замужние, о вдовы, (o, you men's wives and widows fair)  
О девки с целкой наотлёт! (or maidens with your cherries there intact!)  
Позвольте мне вам наперёд (let me tell you a humble fact)  
Сказать о ебле два-три слова (about the fucking out there)  
Итак, тебе не заплачу я(and so, I will not pay you)  
Но если ты простая блядь, (however, if you are a maid of simple mind)  
То знай: за честь должна считать (I will give you an honor)  
Знакомство юнкерского хуя! (and introduce you to my prick!)  
"You may not understand the words, Tovarich, but believe me, if you sing it loud enough at midnight, beating a drum, smelling of herrings with borsht in your hair you will certainly…catch something."  
#  
It was half past one, and down by the river Alexi and Maxim drained the last drops of vodka from their bottles and flung the empties aside. "You think we will have enough kopeks to bail him out?"  
"Nyet. There will be no need. The constable knows we will be playing this trick on an Amestrian and so he will not make us pay to get him out." He burped drunkenly. "He knows it is all in good fun."  
"Da! And Alphonse will not be angry at us for long, you think?"  
"I am thinking that Edward would have killed us if we tried it on him."  
Maxim nodded. "Edward would have never gotten past the herring. But our friend Alphonse is more…?"  
"Gullible?"  
"Trusting, I would say. Come, let's bring him home with his empty sack."  
"And we will make him wash off the stinks in the river?"  
"Without question. Can you stand up?"  
"Only if I have you to lean against. Chert vos-mi! My head! Ohhh…let us make this quick so I can turn in before to long!"  
#  
"A Drachman is never drunk so long as he can hold onto two blades of grass and not fall off the face of the earth"  
It might be true but anyone who could see Maxim and Alexi swaying down the street, arms around one another, would have doubted it. In the middle of the dirt road, between the bakery and the green grocer, they found an empty burlap sack that reeked of herrings. Other than that, there was no trace of Alphonse Elric. "Let's try the Constable's house," Alexi advised, and they swung off down the lane, roaring out a chorus of "Three Prominent Bastards", a song Major Havoc had taught them in Central:  
My father was a gentleman and musical to boot  
He used to play piano in the house of ill repute  
My mother was the madam and a credit to her cult  
She liked my father's playing—and I was the result  
My mother and my father are the ones I have to thank—  
'Cause now I'm in the army and I hold a Gen'ral's rank!  
"Ohhhh…our parents for got to get marrrrrried-our parents forgot to get weddddd Maxim howled at the top of his lungs.  
"Tch! Your Amestrian is atrocious! Nyet, it goes like this! 'when wedding bells chimed they were never in liiiiine-my parents were upstairs in beddddd!"  
"You started in the middle! You want to sing, we sing from the top!"  
"You start from the top and I will punch a hole in your head and pull your feet through it!"  
"Sosimoihui,sooka (suck my dick, you whore)!"  
"Poshyol-ty (fuck you)!" Alexi snarled back. He leaped on Maxim's back and began pounding him with his fists. Maxim dropped like a stone and the two of them were rolling furiously in the dirt and the horse dung and the mud until a single shot fired over their heads made them separate. Constable Sergei sighed, recognizing the two young professors and grabbed them both by their now filthy collars. Covered with mud and filth, he would not lock them up in his nice, tidy jail. No, he would shut them up in the pigsty and ring for Lobachevsky to come bail them out in the morning.  
#  
"Did you hear a gun?"  
Alphonse peeked out from under the hem of Nataly's petticoat. "I wasn't paying attention."  
Liking the dasher in the dairyhouse had been fun. Licking the devotchka who worked in the dairyhouse was even better. She had smelled him before she saw him and realized that he had been fooled. She'd led Alphonse to the washtub and scrubbed him clean and explained to him that devotchka meant…well…something unique to a lady. He told her sadly that he'd been told that a devotchka was something you could eat—a small creature with beautiful, soft fur that smelled occasionally like fish and was very juicy. Nataly shyly lifted her skirt, laid back on a bale of hay, spread her thighs and showed him that he was not precisely wrong after all.  
…TO BE CONTINUED…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG CREDITS:(lyrics to "I Didn't Raise My Boy to Be A Soldier" by Alfred Bryan, 1915. Russian bawdy lyrics taken from "A Holiday in Perterhov" by Mikhail Lermontov 1834 and from "Luka Mudischev" by Ivan Barkov, 18th century. "Three Prominent Bastards" lyrics by Ogden Nash (adapted))


	26. FIELDS OF GOLD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Former General Edison is preparing his revenge of Fuhrer Mustang, targeting the most innocent of bystanders as his victim—meanwhile Abstinence Has Made The Heart Grow…really frustrated. Ed opens Dr. Chen’s box yet again and wanders out on a sunny afternoon to spend some ‘quality time’ with Roy’s most recent letter…

FIELDS OF GOLD  
By The Binary Alchemist 2012

"Well, that's one annoying person out of the way," Ed rubbed his hands together with glee as he waved to the retreating car that carried Alex Louis Armstrong to the railway station. He was to board the next train to Stoltovgrad, where a Briggs courier would meet him and escort him back to Amestris. Orders had been sent up from Mustang; Alex was heading out of the country, although the exact destination had not been revealed.  
It wasn't that Ed didn't like Alex. "He's really all right, but really, he's so he waved his hands helplessly.  
"—he takes up so much space," Pyotir offered. "It's a little hard to breathe when he's in the room."  
Ed nodded. "Yeah, that's it." He tugged at his tie and flipped open his top button and drew a deep, dramatic breath. One down. He glanced over at Bacalla, who had given Alex a send-off basket of food for the trip. It was roughly the size of Ed's laundry hamper. One down. One to go…  
#  
When Winry arrived back at Rush Valley, she was surprised that Pitt Renback was still there, still watching over her clients, waiting for her to return from visiting her children in Central. When she asked him why, her old childhood friend shrugged and smiled shyly. "Well, I'm learning so much about automail surgery and recovery—when will I ever have this chance again?" That answer made Winry smile. It made Mr. Garfiel smile even more. The automail designer and the young physician had spent the evenings in Winry's absence talking long into the night, and while it was hard to be patient Garfiel knew that some day—one day—Winry might be ready to learn how Pitt had felt about her all along. If she can stop obsessing about Alphonse. Garfiel shook his head and sighed dramatically over his café. Surely she understands that the only mistake bigger than marrying one Elric would be marrying the other—and expecting him to stay around any longer than the first one.  
Pitt was relieved to hear that the children were doing exceptionally well in Roy's care. Nina was chattering nearly as much as Maes and was amazing everyone with her first attempts at reading. Elycia had put on a special play 'spelling bee' for Winry. Holding up picture cards with simple three letter words she had Nina spell them out loud for her mother, who had laughed and cried and clapped wildly. They had gone out to celebrate at this wonderful bakery-café the children loved called Il Gattina. Winry was a little embarrassed the way Faust, the grey haired proprietor, had been flirting outrageously with Pinako and how her grandmother seemed smugly pleased with the attention. Ever since the big color feature in the paper about Gracia's new success on the radio and her craft shop, Faust told them, business had tripled, since Gracia and Elycia had posed for photos sharing a Kookie Kat cake together in matching dresses and flowery summer hats. Pretty young bakery girls darted around butterflies in their pinafores and sashes and trailing hair ribbons, while Faust had brought in another grandfatherly fellow, Mr. Rosemario, to make sandwiches and soups, and a plump matron named Mama Anna who made lovely hand dipped chocolates and bonbons that were so delicious that Winry had brought a box home for Garfiel to enjoy.  
Yes' the children were growing like weeds and were obviously devoted to their…well, what was Roy? Uncle? Stepfather? Winry didn't know, but even though he was somewhat formal and polite with her and he didn't gush and fuss over the kids the way Mr. Hughes had done, there was no question in her mind that he cared about them and would lay down his life to protect them. She had been surprised to learn that he had been sleeping on the chaise between the children's bed and cot, night after night, and only relinquished his post when she arrived.

On her first night, Granny was out with Mr. Faust and she would be sleeping in the nursery—how odd that Roy just assumed that she would without asking. Normally she wouldn't have, but it seemed expected, and her things had been brought to the nursery. As she was unpacking she found a black, leather bound volume tucked between the pillows. OWNER'S MANUAL, it said on the cover and it was unlocked. Uncertain what to make of it she opened it and an unfolded letter fell out. The handwriting was instantly recognizable:

"…listen, once we get back I want us to work it out so we can get away, just us, if that's possible. I mean, I know you gotta have security and all that, but even so we could do something. I wanna go camping. You know, nothing fancy. I was thinking it would be good to be out in the woods. We can fish for our supper and cook out on an open fire—I think you could manage to make one without setting the whole damn woods on fire. I just want to sit out there under the stars and not have to do or be anything. Just us. Don't have to even talk. Just be there, drinking our coffee and listening to the river. And when we go back in the tent I'm gonna crawl in your sleeping bag and I will wear you out. I swear, you won't be able to walk. You'll be crawling out on your hands and knees and I'll laugh my ass off at you-except you'll turn around and do the same to me, haha. We need to do this, seriously.   
Send me more pictures, will you? And don't stop writing. Is it helping to talk about Hughes? Hope so. Been too long since you had that stuff bottled up inside. You listened to me rant and yell about Winry and even Al. It helped. I'd have never gotten over so much of that anger if I hadn't had you to talk with. 'Cause what I want in the end is you not eating your guts out with guilt and all that shit that'll kill you. And then we can get on with our life…."

"Stuff with Mr. Hughes?" She shook her head. She had no idea what that cryptic message meant and decided she didn't need to know, although the part about yelling and ranting about her made her frown. Typical Ed. Never says anything and you don't even know if he's mad half the time except that he doesn't hang around. She folded the letter back and went to tuck it in between the open pages and—  
-and her jaw dropped.  
She stared and she stared flipping the pages, unable to pull her eyes away from the photographs within and eventually the Owner's Manual slid out of her nerveless fingers. Then she rose, stepped quickly to the washbasin and vomited noisily. By the time she'd wiped her face and rinsed the sour taste out of her mouth, the last vestiges of nostalgia of what she'd hoped for with Edward, all the reasons she had waited for him and declared herself to him, evaporated. "Oh, Al…help me," she had sobbed into the towel she pressed to her pale lips.

"Something the matter?" That tall man, Sebastian, had stepped into the room and bent solicitously over her. "Miss Rockbell, you're ill. Shall I fetch Doctor Knox?"  
She waved him away. "No—no. I'm fine. Just a bit queasy from the traveling."  
He nodded gravely. "I will send up some hot peppermint tea for you. Very soothing for the upset stomach, and I'll take the liberty to add a bit of chamomile to help you relax." She nodded that this would be fine. He nodded back. "I'll send a maid up to replace your basin and bring you fresh towels—and what is…oh my." He stooped down and picked up the black leather journal. "I was wondering where that had got to. I was mending a tear in the binding for His Excellency. I had mislaid it when I came upstairs to set things to rights before you arrived. How thoughtless of me. Thank you for finding it—and would you be so kind as to not mention this to His Excellency? He would be troubled if the book was…mislaid."

It was probably a very good thing for the butler's health and well being that she did not see the satisfied look on his face as he carried the journal back down the hall to the Presidential bedroom.  
#  
Jean Havoc glanced at the Elric kids as they gleefully smashed their way through their Kookie Kats while Elycia was making such an effort to eat hers in small, ladylike bites, taking dainty sips of this awful, sweet stuff called Sunshine Tea, a blend of sweet tea and lemonade that Jean detested. He much preferred the heartier fare that Il Gattina was serving these days. Old man Rosemario could knock out a sandwich that could make a hungry man weep with joy, and Mama Anna's coffee was arguably the best in Central.  
Rosemario appeared at his elbow. "You like?"  
Jean gestured towards his now-empty plate. "No kiddin'. That's the ham sandwich I dreamed about back during the war when I was stuck eating canned rations. Can I get another one to go—and one chicken club—"  
"-for your Colonel, eh? I know what she likes. Very light on the mayo—and extra tomatoes?"  
Havoc grinned. "You know Colonel Hawkeye?"  
Rosemario mopped his shining bald head. "Is important to know all your customers well. I never, ever forget. Rosemario. Is Aerugoan name for the herb of remembrance. I must always have Kookie Kats for Miss Elycia, always prepare for messes when Master Maes comes to visit—oh, is no trouble!—and when Madame Pinako comes to call, I know Faust will want a long, long coffee break!"  
#  
Charles Foster shifted uncomfortably in the folding chair out on the lawn at Rose Hill and gratefully accepted a paper cup of iced water from an aide who was making sure the press was as comfortable as could be during President Mustang's press conference. "Stinkin' hot, eh, buddy?" Donal Samuelson dropped heavily down into the chair beside him. "You gotta clue what this is about?"  
"Nope. And I hope he makes it brief. Left my hat in the taxi and I feel like I'm about to fry out here."  
Foster slapped his friend on the shoulder. "Great spread on Miss Gracia, by the way. Loved the pictures. I can see why Hughes was so crazy about his family. Hey, wasn't that Rockbell dame in town last week?"  
"Yeah. Actually, I wanted to see if she'd come over and do an interview about the automail industry. Y'know, since we've had peace for awhile. It occurs to me that with fewer wars and not so many amputees they're gonna be losing a lot of business, right? There might be a lot of impact in—oh, let's say twenty-thirty years down the road. Wanna know here take on what they'll be doing in the future."  
"Good angle. Hey, let me know if she says yes, will ya? I still want to get that human interest story on her kids, especially the girl. Looks like she's gonna be another Elric genius."  
Donal sipped his water. "Never give up, do you?"  
"That's what I'm paid to do, my friend. Never give up," he was smiling now, "long as somebody is paying me to get the story, I never give up."

Half an hour later, the pair was sitting in the cool at Il Gattina. Mr. Rosemario waved them in. "It is much cooler with our fans—come in come in." He settled them into one of the new booths that had been installed. "You, my friend he laid his hand on Donal's shoulder. "Roast beef on rye with sharp cheese and horseradish—ginger beer, yes?"  
The Radio Central reporter gestured his thanks. "It's on me, buddy. What'll have?"  
Rosemario cut in quickly. "He likes cold tongue."  
"No," Foster shook his head. "I want pastrami with kraut and white cheese on dark rye."  
Rosemario adjusted his glasses.'Scusez, please. I get it wrong again. I come back with pretzels and your drinks." As he strode back to the kitchen, he glanced over his shoulder. "He looks like a cold tongue customer to me…"

 

When Foster got back to his rented flat there was a message waiting, advising him to go to a phone booth and dial a number that was becoming all too familiar.  
"Things are moving into place, Foster. Do you have anything new for me?"  
"Missed a chance to get more pictures. Donal keeps scooping me."  
The voice on the other end of the line became taut with anger. "Then ride him—ride his coat tails. Ride him," there was a crude chuckle on the other end," the way Hughes rode Mustang's ass.. I need details. That's what I'm paying you for, isn't it?"  
"Look," Foster felt a trickle of cold sweat between his shoulders, "this just doesn't feel right. I know what you mean about 'small targets', but still—"  
"We're following the plan. Don't fuck this up for me!"  
"I'm beginning to think you're just a crazy old bastard. Maybe this isn't-"  
General Edison's tone made the reporter squirm. "You want to back out? Fine. But keep your tongue from wagging or I'll have it cut off. Understand?" There was a long silence. "Are you in or out, Foster?"  
"I….I'm in…I guess." The money was too good to pass up.  
"Get over your squeamishness. If Mustang can go from burning babies in the Dahlia ghetto to playing nursemaid to Fullmetal's brats, you can handle it too."  
#  
"Ed, what's with you? You've been snapping at everybody all day."  
"Shaddap. Al." Alexi and Maxim exchanged glances.  
" кто-то 'menstruating' сегодня?"he acts like a girl on her ladies' time?")  
"Da. Come, Alphonse. We go into town and make trouble—"  
" Nyet! No more trouble, please!" Pyotir begged, remembering that humiliating morning after the "devotchka hunt" when Lobachevsky had dragged Alexi and Maxim out of the pig sty by their collars and had cut their wages in half for the rest of the summer session. "Trouble, we have had enough of! What would Nataly say, Alexi, if you are further in disgrace?"  
At the mention of Nataly's name Alexi's eyes narrowed. "She is not speaking to me. She has eyes for…"  
Alphonse looked worried. "She told me you weren't seeing one another, so I thought—"  
Alexi's face turned crimson. "You thought to have the free milk without buying the cow—you-you—"  
Al lifted a hand in caution. "Alexi—please. I don't want to fight you—"  
"-yeah, because Al could tear your fuckin' head off—"Ed added, since his little brother could damn near out fight any man he knew.  
"—you'd be dead, and my, my, think of the paperwork!" Pio commented dryly. "That would put Mustang in quite a nasty mood, I would imagine."  
"EXCUSE, PLEASE!" Everyone shut up and stared at Dr. Chen. The older man cleared his throat and gestured for silence. "I am needing help today. I have inventory of useful herbs for the town dispensary arriving on the train that is taking Mr. Armstrong-sama back to Stoltovgrad. "If I might ask for assistance, I would gladly buy you dinner this evening. I have also heard that they have brought a moving picture to town. They will be showing it in the square tonight. A Miss Gladys Turlough in a four-reeler—'The Jade Empress'. "  
"GLADYS TURLOUGH?" Every man in the room except Pyotir and Edward was instantly at attention. "The South City Siren? Al's eyes were agog. "Did you see the pictures of her in Film Fun?"  
"The one where she was leaning over and—"  
"Uh huh!"  
Before Pyotir could say "bozhe-moi!' Alexi, Maxim, Pio, Al and Dr. Chen were out the door, calling behind them not to expect them back until late this evening. "Al reads Film Fun? Sheesh, I thought only guys like Havoc liked that junk." Ed rolled his eyes. "She's a crappy actress. Good thing you can't hear her speak in the pictures. Roy and I saw her at the Gaiety in some musical. Sounds like a cat with its tail caught in the door."  
Pyotir blushed. "I am thinking it is not her voice that intrigues them."  
"Yeah, like I give a rat's ass." He yanked off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're not going too?"  
The Drachman gestured towards a pile of notebooks. "There's so much to learn—this alchemy is harder than it seems."  
"Don't try to learn it all in a day," Ed warned. He was restless and irritable and while he appreciated the young man's earnestness right now he just wanted to get the hell away from everybody. He'd had another letter from Roy, this time about the proposed camping trip Ed had mentioned in his last missive. Roy had read Ed's threat that he would 'wear you out' . Roy's detailed response was so erotic and graphic that it made Ed's face burn and his pants now felt entirely too tight. The walls in the old dacha were too thin for real privacy and Ed wanted nothing more than to get Roy on the horn and haul out that…present…and some of that fresh butter Nataly had dropped by and spend a long, sweaty hour on the phone with his lover. It hadn't happened. He needed it to happen. And for it to happen he wanted to get Pyotir out of the house, by force if necessary. "Take a break, why don't you? If you don't want to go to the movies, head down to the river and go fishing or…or..whatever. You know?"

Guess he doesn't, Ed fumed as he stomped out the back door, carrying his day pack. The leather pack usually went with him on day hikes or when he went out to work on the glider. It held notebooks, pens, sandwiches, a canteen and often a towel, since he would get so overheated he would sometimes strip down to his undershorts and splash off in the river.  
Today it held something different.

It hurt. It hurt so much sometimes and he was growing to hate it. It was never like this before. He would breeze through, breeze out with a wave and be on his way. Now there was an ache in his chest that was unfamiliar and unwelcomed, too much like the one he swallowed back when he silently cried himself to sleep in those early days on the road when he was a child of twelve, cold and miserable in some strange bed or huddled in a field somewhere, dreaming of his mother's arms and knowing that he had ruined his only hope of ever seeing her again while ruining his brother's chance for any future at all, maybe. He wasn't cold anymore, and he wasn't hungry and he certainly wasn't a child but the ache was much the same.  
Before he had burnt the house down and every relic of his mother with it. But this time it wouldn't work. Roy would still be there and Ed would want him and it would hurt, goddamn it. Bastard's under my skin now…can't stop thinking…and the kids…I didn't miss them this much before…why now? Why am I wanting now? What the hell's wrong with me?  
And he was hard—so hard. His skin was too sensitive and every word out of Pyotir's mouth made him want to punch him hard in the chest and tell him to shut up and go the fuck away. So he fled the house, taking with him the second of the three items from Dr. Chen's box.  
He wasn't carrying it in his pocket.  
It made him walk a little funny and every now and then he would have to stop and catch his breath when the stars began to jump around in his vision. Eventually he was far enough away, and the golden summer grass was tall enough on that side of the meadow that he would not be seen. Glancing nervously around, he skinned his shirt off over his head, kicked off his shoes and, looking a little guilty, shed his trousers and boxers, laying them close enough to grab if he heard anyone approaching. Laying his towel down, he sank down to his knees and slipped the letter out his bag. If the wind carried it away from him it was written in Codex. Only Al could read it and frankly Al was too busy fooling with Nataly to care. I should talk Ed mentally reproached himself. So damn horny I could drive nails with this thing.  
The wind sifted and he caught a faint hint of wood smoke on the breeze. His eyes slid shut. He smells like that. Warm and clean with a hint of smokiness mixed with the sandalwood and vetiver scent that Roy wore—custom made and distinctly his own. And there was the dark muskiness that Ed knew so well when he slid down his lover's lean torso and buried his face in those fine black curls and inhaled deeply. Don't know why it gets me so hard but it does. Must be those pheromones, 'cause Roy's always doing it to me too. The ache in his groin was not to be ignored and with a low groan Edward shifted onto his back and spread his thighs wide, the warmth of the sun touching places he'd never been bold enough to flaunt in the open like this.  
It felt incredible. Sun licking his skin. Wind caressing, teasing the soft golden down between his cheeks, and the smell of distant wood smoke and the words of the letter burning through the page as Edward held it up to the light…

"…grazing your nipples with my teeth—just enough to make you shiver…looking down and seeing how wet I've made you, catching that pearl of moisture right off the tip with my tongue and then sharing it with you, mouth to mouth…see how good you taste? If I slip my finger inside will you give me more? You always do. I love that. I love slipping up behind you when you're undressing and bite you right under your ear. All I have to do is breathe on the back of your neck and you spring up so hard for me and the more I kiss and lick you in those sensitive spots above the shoulders the wetter you become and I just want to suck up every last drop—don't want to waste it—because even if you tell me to cut it out your body is telling me 'don't stop…don't ever stop…"

He was panting now and he reached down while tilting his hips upward and his fingers found the warm ring of jade with the silken cord that disappeared inside him along with the five jade beads the size of the marbles he had played with as a child. They were moving inside him with every breath, it seemed, and when he tugged gently on the ring as the instructions said there was this crazy-making sensation, damn near good as Roy's finger or tongue down there. That was what he was seeing behind his closed eyes—his thighs over Roy's shoulders and a dark, silky head buried between them. He was being spread wide apart, helpless and shuddering and exposed, tenderly invaded to the accompanying sound of low, throaty purrs and growls of satisfaction and the soft, moist sounds of lips and tongue doing things to him that still made him blush to think about. 

"Mmmmm….rub it…stroke it for me, Ed…" And he would and he did and those fingers would slide deeper and the mouth would move up to his sac and under and around it, sucking and flicking and sending jolts up his spine and making him babble incoherently.  
"…I'm coming in…you couldn't keep me out if you tried…because right now you may be lying on your back but you own my soul, damn you…and I am not going to feel complete until you're tight around me and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Because I need this—I need to be this close and so do you. And before the night is done you will have me down on my knees, open wide and begging for you to take what you know you want—take it as hard as you can- and you'll fuck me like an animal, not giving a good goddamn if it kills us both…"  
He pulled harder, the rhythm becoming unsteady now. He wasn't even touching his cock and there was a slick puddle on his straining belly. The heat of the sun in a golden field and the scent of smoke and he needed—needed—needed, damn it, and Roy was prying him apart with his fingers and tongue and his cock and the corded muscles on his neck stood out as he strained and arched into that unseen touch…  
"…love you…"  
Edward's shaking fingers curled around the jade ring and he yanked.  
#  
"What was that?" Pyotir froze in his tracks on the slope above the river as a sharp, almost painful cry caught his attention. In the golden grass below the slope there was a golden man in the golden sun, golden hair loose and tangled as his head thrashed wildly. His knees—one flesh, one steel were roughly up around his ears and one hand was jerking frantically and the Drachman could clearly see the darkly swollen manhood arching over the scarred belly. There was another yelp and then the man lay motionless.  
Right below his left ear there was a louder click! Something cool and metallic was pressed against his neck. "Don't move."  
He didn't dare. "Wh—who…who are you?" He raised his hands nervously. Was this the punishment he deserved for seeing Edward Tovarich…doing…that… in the meadow?  
Someone jerked him roughly to the ground, slapping a gloved hand over his mouth…  
#  
Edward wiped off his chin and laughed weakly. He'd hit his forehead too, and even his hair was spattered. "Damn…I knew I needed to come, but…damn!" Impressed with himself, he eventually crawled to his feet, grabbed his towel and slipped through the tall grass to the river.

He had to be careful. The rocks were slick around here and as a swimmer he was a very effective boat anchor. Fortunately it was shallow here in the bend of the river and he could stretch out in the shallows, chin pillowed on his folded arms, half floating on one side. Actually he could swim now if he took his leg off or if Roy was with him, holding him up so he wouldn't sink if the limb was still attached. He scooted down carefully, just deep enough to dunk his sweaty head under and he also scrubbed off the traces of butter remaining on his skin. There were plenty of extra silk cords in the box, so he would look forward to doing this again. "Crazy fucking people in Xing, think of weird shit like those beads. What do you expect with a pervert like Ling running the country?"

On his way back up the hill to the dacha he was surprised to find a very anxious looking Pyotir sitting on the back steps, a bottle of vodka in his hand. "What's up with you? Kinda early to get wasted, isn't it?"  
"Da…I mean nyet. I mean…" Pyotir could barely look at Edward, not after seeing the young Amestrian so vulnerable, making love to himself in the afternoon sun. Under any other circumstances he would have excused himself to the privy and quickly rubbed one off but he could still feel the business end of a high caliber pistol held to the side of his head. "One fucking word and I swear your friends will be mopping up your brains in Stoltovgrad!"  
"Hey, you wanna go on into town? Might as well go catch that stupid picture show with everybody else. Good for a laugh." He yawned and stretched luxuriantly and shook his loose hair out of his amber eyes. "And dinner. We can stop at the café and get a couple of cold chickens and some beer and bread—oh, and some cheese. Yeah, sounds like a plan. You coming?"  
Pyotir nodded and quickly changed into a clean shirt. He didn't have any interest in watching some large breasted Amestrian on the screen but he would be good and damned if he was going to stay alone tonight, now that he knew who was sneaking around in the dark…  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	27. LAURELS FOR THE FALLEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After nearly half a lifetime of tormenting himself for the slaughter of the Ishballan children, Roy may have found forgiveness thanks to the daughter of the man he once loved and lost—meanwhile former Fuhrer Grumman has info on the mysterious man who may be plotting to assassinate Roy—and will Alphonse be the groom at a shotgun wedding…?

"LAURELS FOR THE FALLEN"  
By The Binary Alchemist 

 

Hey -  
I let the class out early today. I think they needed some time to think about my final lesson before practicum and exams.  
I told them about chimeras. I told them about Nina Tucker. Al said my voice was shaking at the end and that if listening to me tell about the little girl I couldn't save didn't scare them off making chimeras then nothing will and they are beyond saving. Several people looked sick and four or five of them were crying. And that's good. I want them sick and terrified and disgusted. Al got a letter from May the other day. Remember Jerso and Zampano, the former chimeras that went to Al on his first trip to Xing? They will be May's teaching assistants at the Chrysanthemum Palace Collegium. She says they have been good apprentices and have made a lot of progress. I wish they had been here at Stoltovgrad to tell them how horrible it is to fuck with human life that way.  
So—exams and stuff next week. And right after graduation we launch my glider—really, gotta stop calling it a glider, 'cause it will travel under its own power. Flying machine is more like it—Al suggests the term 'aeroplane'. Pyotir, Al and I built a kite based on my rough design back in June and had to make quite a few modifications. A wind tunnel was improvised out of an old barn, and it has been great to study how the wind affects my test models. What has caused the crashes of other inventors, I believe, is the issue of aerodynamic control over the surface of the machine and its wings. With Pyotir's engineering we've come up with a three-axis control theory based on the early airship and nautical concepts of roll, pitch and yaw. It all comes down to the angles of rotation around the craft's center of mass. We test and tinker, test and tinker and test again and I won't say there haven't been some bruises and bumped heads all around. Bottom line—we're ready as we will ever be for the maiden flight.  
Now, what to call the damned thing? Ships are named after women, but if this goes down in flames—not so good, right? Since Al named his craft the Xerxes, mine will be Amestris. I know. Kinda boring? Yeah, well I could have called it 'Mustang's A Flaming Asshole" but that's too long to paint on the fuselage.  
You ought to be there to see me fly. Don't want the kids there because if I run out of sky and—well, I don't need them to see that. But one day, who knows? Maybe they'll fly themselves.   
Those letters you've been writing…damn. And yeah, I told them the night before the final flight to get the fuck away, because you and I are gonna have a long talk on the phone and I don't want those jerks to hear…you know.  
Oh—Al's been kinda busy, going out a lot at night. Alexi seems pretty pissed about this. They are both seeing the same girl, I think. And Peehole—we call him 'Sunshine' now—he just disappears in the middle of the night and comes back just before dawn. Don't care as long as I don't have to put up with him. Good cook, though. Got to give him his due for that. Made some sort of rum-soaked cake that had us all falling out of our chairs. Never knew you could get shitfaced with a spoon.  
Give my love to everybody and hug the kids. Tell them I miss them and Uncle Al and I will be home soon—think about me sometime tonight when you're done ordering everybody around and pissing everybody off for the day. Consult your owner's manual if you need help, heh heh. Gotta hand it to Chen about his 'gifts'. There's one I haven't tried yet—we'll discuss that when we talk. I ran out of silk cords for one of them. Bet you did too.  
KEEP WRITING!  
-Ed  
#  
"You going out? 'Bout time." Pinako nodded at him over her notes and sketches. The kids were having a sleepover at Gracia's and in a little while Pinako would be meeting up with her elderly swain Faust from the bakery and whatever they had planed Roy decided he'd be happier off not knowing. The old woman seemed smug and satisfied, and if he dared to tease her Roy suspected he'd get a comeback that would put even Ed's sharp tongue to shame.  
"Having dinner with Aunt Chris," he nodded. "Anytime she offers to cook me a steak I'd be a fool to turn her down. You?"  
"Faust has reservations for a Cretan restaurant and we're going to the picture show. After that she blew out a smoke ring and fondled the stem of her keseru pipe,—we'll see."  
"Maria Ross is on point at Gracia's tonight if you need her, and don't hesitate to call me at-"  
"Roy." There was a hint of reprimand in her tone. "You've been camping out in a nursery for weeks. You have guards guarding your guards. Sometimes you overdo the over-protectiveness and that's not good either. Relax, son. Go out, have a good dinner with Chris, have a few drinks and dance with some of your 'sisters'—they're your family too, you know. Best thing you can do for Ed is take care of yourself. "  
She'd hit the nail on the head again. "His flight is in three days."  
"You're worried."  
"Hell yes—wouldn't you be?"  
"If a Rockbell had build that flying contraption—no. Son, all you can do is take it as it comes to you. Ed's—"  
"Ed's motto," he growled softly, "is 'Safety Third'. And he's about as mechanically inclined as a fry cook at the sausage cart. I know, he's got Alphonse and that Drachman engineer and their friends….I just…"  
Roy lapsed into silence. The old woman patted his arm. "Take it as it comes when it comes—and don't be such a damned pessimist. Now go wash up—and don't forget to stop for flowers for your aunt."  
#  
"Why, helloooooo, you handsome soldier! Buy an old lady a drink?" 

Her face looked like seven miles of bad road, paved with rouge and the kind of lipstick that can leave a week long stain on a man's scrotum. Roy sniffed the air and frowned. The old hag was bespectacled, and if the smell was anything to judge she couldn't tell the difference between roach killer and hair spray. The ratty fox stole around her shoulders looked like it had lost a fight with a push mower moments before being blasted with buck shot.  
The shoes were a dead giveaway. "Wearing white after Annexation Day?"  
The wig shifted a trifle as the horror adjusted its hat. "Most fellows would say only a man who's a mite light in the loafers would notice something like that."  
"I was raised around working women. Highly educational. And my loafers, you'll note, actually match my belt, and coordinate properly with my trousers. And you might want to straighten your bosom, Madame. You look like one of those Post-Modernist Drachman paintings."  
There was a yellow-toothed smirk. "You like Drachman Cubism?"  
"Hate it. Almost as much as I hate that fur you're wearing. I'm guessing you beat it to death with your frilly parasol in your girlhood days?"  
There was an offended sniff. "And Chris always said she raised you to be a gentleman."  
"Funny, that's what your mother probably said about you before you started impersonating a gargoyle in drag."  
Former Fuhrer Grumman cackled and patted his successor on the shoulder. "Domesticity hasn't mellowed you a bit, boy. It's good to see you."  
"And you. Although why here—"  
"—didn't we always rendezvous at Hughes' resting place? I must admit," he nodded at the weathered stone, "this is a more fitting tribute for the fallen. Any objections from the other Widow Hughes? The one with the lovely legs?"  
"I thought we agreed you'd drop that." Roy ruffled his dark hair and sighed, but the taunt had lost much of its sting.  
The old 'woman' slipped her arm through Roy's. "Better toughen up, my boy. You know there's been gossip lately. Old gossip. I've heard a buzz about something that has been buried deep in your personal file from the academy—something, I believe, Bradley once held over your head as well as holding all your subordinates as hostages. Something," he leaned closer, "about an expunged report of Kimblee's. You and Hughes were rather foolish young boys in love, weren't you?"

Roy didn't answer. He stooped down and straightened the simple hero's wreath of laurel leaves that rested on the stone along with the lover's roses that Gracia and Elycia had laid on the grave earlier this afternoon. Roy had sat down with the child and her mother and told Elycia that her father had been very, very brave and that the wreath was only given to the best of soldiers and as the Commander in Chief of the army it was Roy's honor to place the laurels on his best friend's grave. Roy told the child he would lay the wreath on the 1st of the month and invited them to meet him there if they wished when Roy presented the simple garland and saluted his absent comrade. For the past two months they had met faithfully and Gracia was touched that Roy even arranged for an army bugler to sound Last Post in tribute when each wreath was laid down.  
And each month, oddly, it got easier. He didn't have to fight the urge to curl up in the dark with a bottle of whiskey, his eyes darting away from Edward's worried gaze. As the last silvery notes echoed into the afternoon sun, he snapped in full salute, replaced his cap and when he turned from the grave he knelt to accept Elycia's affectionate hug and the whispered, thank you, Uncle Roy. Then he would gravely escort the child to the park to rendezvous with Nina and Maes and his security detail would bring out a hamper of Ramsay's sandwiches and chilled lemonade and tea and Roy and Gracia and Pinako and Hawkeye would laugh as Jean pushed swings, teeter-tottered and merry-go-rounded until he was ready to drop from exhaustion.

"She knows, if that's what your hinting at, Sir. We've….made peace….of a sort, Gracia and I. And in truth, only three people knew for certain what may have occurred—and two of them -."  
"-yes, 'three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead'." Grumman thoughtfully brushed his mustache with his thumb. "Now, boy, about those bullets. It's Edison. No doubt about it. Not pulling the trigger. Doesn't have the stones for that, but he's the one who's behind it. "  
"Really. Why am I not surprised? And I can assume those bullets are some of the left over cache that was seized during the rebellion."  
"He has a grudge against you. Fortunately," he chuckled, "others have a grudge against him. There were witnesses that saw Izumi Curtis and the Snow Queen hand him his head and hog tie him, while he begged and sobbed for them to protect him from The Gentleman under the city. The other malcontents never pleaded or recanted. They regard him as another failed experiment, you might say. But a bony finger lifted in caution,—even a mangy cur can deliver a nasty bite. You might want to spend less time in public, Roy."  
"I might want to spend more." Roy rose and dusted off his hands. "I've heard the rumblings in the press. Stories about me seducing Ed as a child. Stories about me raping half the women in Ishbal before setting fire to their children. I'm a shameless womanizer. I prey on boys—I go down on my knees and let myself be sodomized and whipped and dominated by Ishballan men-Scar's had me half a dozen times, they say. I'm a killer of children and a monster—those last ones are truth. Everything else…" he made a dismissive gesture, "if the people believe it, call for a vote of no confidence and vote me down in Parliament. It's as simple as that."  
"I'd be less concerned about a vote of no confidence than I would be of a bullet in the head. Be careful, son."  
One corner of Roy's mouth turned up in a cynical smile. "Yes. Ma'am."  
#  
She had given him the key to Room 5. Not that she wouldn't turn a profit and rent it when he and Edward weren't there to play, but it was a small gesture and it meant a lot to Roy. Besides, it was the easiest way to leave messages for the Fuhrer through the existing spy ring that still operated through Madame Christmas' establishment. And he paid the bill for the private phone line he'd had installed, although he was careful to remove the wire-tapping device if he called Edward from that particular room.

He snapped at the candelabra and the room glowed softly. Locked in, privacy assured, he stripped out of his street clothing and into the dark red dressing gown that fit a slightly slimmer man but was comforting nonetheless. He sank onto the red velvet chaise, took a sip of the fine, single malt whiskey, leaned back and studied the flickering shadows on the embossed tin ceiling. He had been to Maes' grave, paid his respects, walked away…and he didn't want to finish the decanter.

He could let Hughes be gone. Something—someone—had given him warmth and peace and had thawed out that part of his heart that would not—could not—accept forgiveness.  
A child. Who'd have thought it? He put the glass aside. A child with her father's eyes who can forgive and love a monster, and a man who didn't run when I told him the truth. A tiny hand that clasped his and a strong, stubborn man who held him at night and refused to let Roy's self-loathing destroy their chance for future happiness.

"I have killed children."

He said it aloud. He said it without mockery. "I have turned them into blackened, twisted lumps of charred meat that smokes and stinks. I brought the walls down on their heads and trapped them to suffocate as the flames rise and the world charred around them." He drew a deep breath. "They were found by the searchers. They were cooked to bursting, like sausages on a spit, clinging to the withered, blistered breasts of their dead mothers."  
His hand reached for the glass. He poured the liquor on the hand woven rug. He would pay to have it cleaned. "I was a killer of children. And a child," his voice thickened as he smiled, "three children—love me. Their mothers and fathers know what I am and they let their children love me. It's done, Maes. It's done. And I'm going to be all right now."  
He let the tears come this time, no alcohol this time to blunt the pain. This had been years coming and he had been afraid of it-he'd defined himself by the sins he'd been forced to commit when he was hardly more than a boy. He'd clung to the ghost of his dead lover in hopes of absolution. He'd found it, instead, in his lover's child. Burrowing his face in the soft velvet tufts of the upholstery, he muffled his own cries and his fingers were clenched white as he clung on as if he were falling off the face of the earth.

 

He cried himself empty. He cried himself clean. When he was done, he dialed a number in Drachma.  
"Hey!"  
"Hey…"  
"You okay?" Edward was instantly alert.  
"Yeah. Better than I have been, I think."  
"You don't sound okay."  
There was a chuckled on the other end of the phone. "No…actually I think I've settled some things in my mind. I feel better. I just-wanted to hear you tonight."  
Somewhere in Drachma it was early evening. Supper was done and Ed had settled in for a night of reading. He nodded, understanding. "It won't be long."  
"I know. And I've made arrangement for us to go on that camping trip."  
Ed grinned triumphantly. "You better call me before the flight."  
"That's a promise." Roy felt suddenly drowsy, as if a lifetime to tension had melted out of his bones. "I'm turning in early. I'm in Room 5. I wanted to get away and think things through about…things that I needed to finish. No more roses on the 14th."  
No more roses. That meant-"Did the letters help?"  
"No. You did. You and Elycia."  
"Okay. Good. You sure you're okay?"  
"Never better. Goodnight. I love you."  
Ed's voice became low and privately affectionate. "Nice we agree on something, you sentimental jerk."  
#  
Edison's hand shook as he counted the bullets.

In the old days, there was always somebody he could order to pull the trigger when necessary. Nowadays, nobody in the Old Guard took him seriously.  
That would change in three days' time.  
His hands shook and he could not ignore the rusty brown spots that marred the skin. Age. That wasn't supposed to happen, he thought. The Gentleman was going to put a stop to age. He, Edison, would be among the Chosen, the Elect. This…shell… he inhabited with its bad smells and aching joints and withered bits and sagging belly—he was to have left it to rot, being transmuted into a new, eternal body. A young body that would never die. Not a monstrosity like the doll soldiers but a lithe and beautiful form, golden and perfect like Fullmetal's had been with none of the clumsy machinery. Golden like The Father.  
And thanks to Mustang he was trapped in this aging, sagging horror with rusty spots on his hands and a bladder that woke him all hours of the night and a heart that thumped too wildly when he thought about pulling the trigger himself.  
There was an odd sense of justice about this, though. It would be youth, this time, that would die for Edison's cause…  
#  
"What the hell?"   
Edward sat up on the battered couch and rubbed his eyes. There was a low, angry rumble from out in the front garden of the dacha. Edward had an uncomfortable familiarity with angry mobs, although in his experience they generally weren't human, were armed to the teeth and hell bent on killing him.  
"ELRIC! You come out here and face me, you sooka (traitor)! I'll kill you!"  
Pyotir, stuck his head out of his bedroom. "What the—Edward? What is this about?"  
"Fuck if I know," the younger man grumbled irritably. Bacalla had made some sort of rich beef stew for dinner, thick with mushrooms and sour cream, and it had been far too heavy for Ed's stomach on such a warm summer evening. Edward had eaten too well and had sacked out on the couch with a couple of good books and some mint tea to settle his stomach and had promptly dozed off. Maxim and Dr. Chen had gone off rowing on the river with some friends from the university. Al was in the bathtub. Bacalla had borrowed the car and gone off to locate a man who could get his hands on some Aerugoan wine in the next village. Pyotir had been on the back porch practicing on his balalaika and had gone back to his room for some music he'd left. The house had been relatively tranquil, disturbed by the occasional tummy rumble and stray fart that Ed tried to muffle in the upholstery.

Pyotir stepped out onto the porch. There were a half a dozen angry farmers and a few of their wives trampling the flowers and several of them were waving pitchforks and hoes. One of them he recognized right away: Ivan, the dairyman whose herds provided much of the rich and wonderful milk, butter and cheese they feasted on at the dacha and everywhere else in the village. Judging from the furious scowl on his face and the weeping daughter he was dragging up the steps by her arm, one of the Elrics had been feasting on something else and the old man was determined to make sure it was lawfully paid for.  
He ducked back inside, closed the door, locked it and then turned anxiously to Edward. "Tell your brother to hide! Nataly's out there with her father!"  
"Huh?" Al stuck his head into the drawing room, toweling off the last bits of shaving soap off his cheeks. "Nataly's here? Why didn't you let her in?"  
"Because you are my friend—and because I do not want to see your insides splattered all over the rug."  
"Oh, balls!" Ed grumbled, tossing his book aside. "What the hell do they want?"  
"Your brother's head, I'm thinking."  
Ed shot his sibling a suspicious look. "Which one? Al, did you—"  
The younger Elric lifted his hands in protest. "No way! She told me she was a virgin, so we didn't—well…not to say that we didn't do anything… we just didn't do—"  
"—everything. Okay. I got it. Damn it, Al…I knew this was going to happen sooner or later." He straightened his tie and adjusted his glasses. "All right. Let's see what the hell they want."

"You! I should break your Amestrian neck for-chert voz-mi!"  
The men stared. The women in the group leaned in and stared more closely. Al had come straight to the porch from the bathroom and was clad in only a thin, damp towel. It clung impressively to his hips, thighs and other places. Nataly quit crying and blushed. Ed cursed, ducked inside and grabbed one of the dressing gowns hung on pegs inside the bathing room, hurrying back and hoping nothing would be cut off from under that towel before he got back.  
"I give you my word, Mr. Asimov," Al was speaking in calm, respectful tones to the furious dairyman. "I knew Nataly was maiden and I respect that. I would never have allowed us to cross that line and take advantage of her." He drew himself up with quiet dignity. "I am a gentleman, sir—and Nataly is very much a lady. I respect her, admire her—she is wonderful company and you and Madame Asimov should be so proud of her—"  
"You—you no good babnik! (womanizer) See here…see how you shame my daughter—my precious little kroshka (endearment)—you come to the barn in the middle of the night—you treat her like…like a …a devushka po vyzovu!!(prostitute)  
Al shrugged on the robe and his expression became so severe that both Ed and Pyotir took several steps backwards. "You must not speak this way about your daughter," he told them in the sort of quiet tone that would have served as a warning if they had known Alphonse better. "Nataly is innocent, and so am-"  
"Nyet! My daughter is spoiled!" Madame Asimov wailed A grandmother I have wanted to be-but not like this! Not by some rich, famous foreigner who makes light of my little one and makes her in the family way—"  
Ed and Pyotir stared at Alphonse in horror. "Al…you didn't…"  
Alphonse flushed with anger. "I most certainly did not!"  
Nataly twisted in her father's grip. "He didn't, Papa! I told you! We kissed, da, but—"  
"With the kiss it begins, you little pridurok! (idiot Her father shook her arm angrily. "And with a bridal kiss he will make it right or we will have his yaytsa (testicles)—and then you will have a husband who is little more than a gelding—but a husband you shall have, nonetheless!"  
"Hey, everybody—wait a minute…uh…ostyn! Ostyn! (cool it Ed put a cautioning hand on Al's shoulder. "My brother says he didn't do…er…he and Nataly didn't…y'know…" His tanned cheeks reddened. "And Nataly, you say you and Al didn't….?"  
She shook her head, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Not like that. I mean, he did kiss me in the nice places—and when I asked he let me touch his—"  
Ed groaned and slapped his forehead. "Goddamn it, Al—"  
"—but he wasn't the one who—"  
"—was it Alexi?" Pyotir asked anxiously.  
Nataly shook his head. "That one? I wait and wait for him to work up the courage to kiss me-I cannot wait forever-"  
'Then, Nataly, if it wasn't Al and it wasn't Alexi, who….?"  
The girl sobbed and buried her face in her hands. "I can't tell you…I can't…"  
Farmer Asimov's eyes narrowed. "Konchay bazaar (shut up now). It's clear enough to me that this…this Amestrian kakashka (piece of shit) has done enough and more than enough! If you don't have a father for this child, then he will do, seeing that he has let you become so familiar with him. Constable Sergei! You will fetch Father Chekov ! We make an honest couple of them TONIGHT!"  
.  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…


	28. SOMETHING ROTTEN IN AERUGO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of the alleged “Germ Warfare” that Prince Claudio of Aerugo was rumored to have used against President Mustang is finally solved---with the help of Alex Armstrong and Dr Knox. Meanwhile Alphonse prepares for a shotgun weddng and an innocent child moves unwittingly into the crosshairs of a desperate man…

"SOMETHING ROTTEN IN AERUGO"  
By The Binary Alchemist

A world leader should be above the need to say I told you so.

Prince Claudio, despite his vanity, his pride and the sharp criticisms of his soon-to-abdicate elderly father the Sun King, aspired to be a good leader of the Aerugoan people. When the morning paper's headline proclaimed that the Amestrian Fuhrer had announced that the bullets found on the Palace grounds were, in fact, old issue from the Ishballan uprising, he cheered inwardly and responded publicly that he had been certain all along that some malcontents had been attempting to foster ill will between Amestris and Aerugo. He managed to stop just short of gloating. It wouldn't be proper. It wouldn't be good statesmanship. And with Alex Louis Armstrong and the curmudgeonly Dr. Owen Knox ransacking his palace, it wouldn't be safe.

Knox had elbowed out the oh-so-polite and oh-so-steeped in protocol royal physicians and locked the doors to the Prince's study behind him. He lit up a cigarette in the Royal Presence, poured himself a cup from the Princes Special Reserve coffee pot, placed his commoner's lips on the ancestral china and slurped. Then he put the eggshell-thin cup down with a bang and growled, "Alright, son. Let's cut the bullshit and find out what nearly killed you."  
Knox's eyes would have been raven food just for touching the china back in his grandfather's day, and at the very least the Sun King would have clapped him in irons.  
Instead, Claudio Rico Aerugo, Prince of the Dawn, offered Knox a plate of pastries, removed his jacket, waistcoat and shirt and offered his bare arm across the desk. "You'll find, Signor, that the veins will probably roll a little less on this side."  
Four tubes of blood, a throat swab ,a sputum sample and half a day later, the Prince was eagerly leaning over a microscope for the first time. "Tell me what I am seeing, Signor."  
"I got this from Mustang. See those rod shapes in there?"  
"Si."  
"Okay…now…this…came out of you."  
Claudio adjusted the focus. "Identical? I am seeing this correctly?"  
"Yeah." Knox bit down on his cigarette and grinned maliciously. You really wanna know where it comes from?"  
#  
Edward—  
I was going to write to you as I have done so many times in the past few months, about the same story, the same loss, the same pain.  
I don't think there is anything left that needs saying. Oh, the story goes on. I could write about the war years and how it turned to optimistic fools, two boys, into killers. It is a hard, hard thing to discover that everything you knew is wrong, but who knows that better than you?  
It's strange. I hung on to that for so many years. Now it's done. I'm sober and I think I'm still sane. Thank you for loving me enough to let me unburden my heart after all these years.   
Oh, I know. You aren't comfortable with that word. Everything you've ever admitted to loving was taken from you or wounded in some way. I understand that, and it changes nothing. If nothing else, I will take sadistic pleasure in spending the rest of my life proving you wrong,  
-Roy  
#  
"Alexi, I-"  
The older Drachman lifted his hand to cut Alphonse off. "It is finished. I don't want to hear another word. Nataly-"  
"—Nataly is a fine girl, and I know you care-"  
"She is nothing to me, you hear? Nothing! She is finished! Ruined! She—"  
Now it was Alphonse who gestured for silence. "She isn't ruined. How could you say something so cruel? I thought you loved her, Alexi! She-"  
"—she has let herself be spoiled like sour milk. I will have nothing to do with her, and neither will any man in this village."  
Al glanced down into his glass of hot tea. "I guess I don't understand," he sighed. "Okay, she's going to have a baby and neither one of us is the father—but so what? You could still be happy if you—"  
Alexi slammed his fist down on the table. "Nyet! Another word and I will pound you until you grow feet first in the ground like a turnip!"  
"Lover's spat? Gentlemen? Oh! Sorry—I meant to say, having a spat over your lover? My, my…such a dreadful fuss on such a beautiful morning. I do hope it won't deter you from doing justice to the splendid breakfast I have prepared. Behold!" Bacalla bore a large platter of fragrant griddle cakes to the table. They were perfectly browned and drenched in melted butter. A dipper jar of comb honey and a pot of fresh strawberry jam accompanied them to the table. "I say, this countryside is a veritable culinary paradise, Alexi. Half a moment and I'll bring out some rashers of home cured bacon and some sausages too fine for the King's own table. Oh, and the butcher's boy will be dropping off a brace of fresh killed chickens for tonight's dinner. Professor Lobachevsky will be joining us—"  
At the mention of the Professor's name Alphonse and Alexi both panicked. "Lobachevsky!" Alexi hissed. "If he finds out about Nataly-"  
"—he'll kill you and deport me Al fretted.  
"-or kill me and deport you….we're in deep govno (excrement)regardless…" Alexi babbled. Frantically he tugged at the faded tablecloth and peered underneath as if somehow hoping he could hide his tall body underneath where the fearsome Head of the University wouldn't be able to detect him. And he'd be present for dinner? There was nothing to keep old Asimov from marching back with his pitchfork and-  
Waitaminute. He, Alexi, had not even kissed her—by Nataly's own scornful admission.  
He was safe, by the saints. He would keep his tenure, his car, his life, his honor and his testicles. Whereas this younger Elric brother…  
Alexi slapped Alphonse affectionately on the shoulder. "She has broad hips. I'm sure she will bear you many sons. Be happy!"  
Later he regretted that he hadn't had a chance to swallow that first delicious bite of breakfast before Alphonse's fist connected with his jaw….  
#  
"The bacteria that infected your lungs is found in…" Knox searched for a word that sounded at least somewhat princely. "Excreta."  
"Excuse me?"  
"Stercus, Fimus. Scat. BM." Knox rubbed his face with both hands and glared over at Alex. "Am I getting through here?"  
The pink-skinned giant of a man leaned down and whispered, "the bacteria comes from poo-poo, Highness. Which reminds me Bowing swiftly, Armstrong ducked out the door.  
"Scusillo? I don'la t capisce?"  
"It comes from shit, goddamn it!"  
"Ah!" Claudio nodded in comprehension. Then his face twisted in disgust. "Merda? In my lungs! Insana! Madness!" He waved his hands in horror.  
"Echerichia Coli. Not the most common cause of pneumonia, but in your case and President Mustang, it's a positive diagnosis. It's hard as hell to diagnose, too, because normally you're looking for pseudomonas or mebbe streptococcus. Occasionally it's parasites or fungus, but after tearing through every goddamn text I could find I tested Roy the way I tested you—and I was right on the money!"  
Claudio sank down behind his desk and ruffled his chestnut hair, muttering in astonishment.  
Knox flipped though a medical journal. "Listen to this: 'E coli pneumonia usually manifests as a bronchopneumonia of the lower lobes and may be complicated by empyema. E coli bacteremia precedes pneumonia and is usually due to another focus of E coli infection in the urinary or GI tract." That green crap you've been coughing up? Empyema is pus, son. And you've had diarrhea and bladder infections, right?"  
The prince nodded. So had his father. "So had Mustang when he was visiting."  
"pneumonia is a secondary infection but one that can kill, son. I've got the cure and I'll treat you—but what's more important is to prevent it from happening again."  
Claudio rubbed his eyes wearily. "And how can we prevent it if we don't know how we got infected to begin with?"  
The door burst open again. "HYGIENE!" roared Alex Louis Armstrong, dragging what appeared to be a bundle of old rags behind him. He shredded his jacket with one hand and flung it to the floor as if accepting a challenge."LOOK AT ME, YOUR MAJESTY! EVERY MUSCLE IN MY MAGNIFICENT BODY PULSING AND THROBBING WITH VITALITY! NOTE THE SPARKLE IN MY EYES—THE GLOW OF HEALTH THAT RADIATES FROM MY SKIN-EVEN MY MUSTACHE QUIVERS WITH THAT UP-AND-AT-'EM ENERGY THAT COMES FROM PERFECT HEALTH!"  
"Che cosa lo scopata?" (what the fuck)  
"NOW—LOOK AT THIS POOR BENIGHTED CREATURE!" A scrawny human that reeked of night soil and apparently hadn't sponged its armpits since the spring thaw dangled from a meaty fist held at arms length. It held a filthy rag in one hand and the Prince's engraved silver bedside pitcher in his hand. "WHEN I WAS DASHING UP AND DOWN THE STAIRS FOR MY MORNING CONSTITUTIONAL I SPIED THIS WRECK OF A MAN TOTTERING DOWN THE HALL, A SHADOW OF THE RADIANT HEALTH THAT IS HIS BIRTHRIGHT-"  
Rheumy eyes darted up at the giant. "Wasn't staggerin'…went down to the kitchens last night and emptied a few wi' the pig boy…still a little pissed, if you want to know the truth…"  
The Prince didn't waste a glance on him. "That's just Baldrick. Carries out the slops, mops up the privies, hauls water—"  
Knox frowned.—hauls water, you say?" Two strides and he'd snatched the pitcher from the servant's hand. "Gimme that!" Snatching a clean swab and a slide from his bag, Knox daubed the cotton all over the Prince's water jug and then rubbed it over a clean glass slide. One glance under the microscope and he swore furiously. "Damn you, fool—what have you been cleaning that jug out with?"  
"My bucket." The raggedy fellow licked his lips nervously. "Why? 'zat a problem?"  
"That water isn't potable, idiot!" Knox growled. Anything that touches food or drink should be soaped and scalded and touched with clean hands! Give me your hand he snatched at one grubby finger and ran another swab under the blackened fingernail. Another glance in the microscope's eyepiece turned him red with fury. "SHIT!" the doctor bellowed. "Look at this, Prince! You want to know who nearly killed you and my president—and who probably caused your father all his intestinal problems? Here-right here! And all around you!" His hands flailed in frustration. "Filthy water in your canals—sewage leaking everywhere! Servants who are so ignorant they don't know enough to wash their hands when they take a dump—contamination everywhere….all I can say is you Aerugoan bastards are tough to kill or you'd have died out years ago!"

The meeting with the Sun King was brief and unpleasant. The pikes on the battlements were not decorated with any heads but by the time the old monarch was done more than a few of the household staff would have found it preferable to offer their eyes to the crows rather than endure the royal edict: a spotless castle in seven days. They would clean it with elbow grease or, as he put it succinctly, with their tongues. Worse, Alex Louis Armstrong would supervise.  
At that pronouncement, Baldrick offered to slit his own throat in penance. "Please, Your Majesty-I'll do myself in and I won't even spill any blood on the rugs—neat as you please, only don't let that big pink baboon get his hands on me!"

By the third day, Baldrick decided, disembowelment would have been a relief.

Every morning at half past five Armstrong marched through the servant's quarters, cheerfully tootling a reveille call on a bugle. "GOOOOOOD MORNING! EVERYBODY UP AND AT 'EM! LET'S GREET THE SUN WITH THE RADIANT GLOW THAT COMES FROM PERFECT HEALTH! Clapping his meaty hands, he marched fifty five men and women out for a brisk thirty minutes of calisthenics. They were then marched back to stand at attention before the shining new bathhouse that the alchemist had constructed from local stone. It had 12 shower stalls and twelve new flush toilets per side. The toilets actually flushed and the waste was carried away from the castle, instead of seeping through the walls. Five more State Alchemists had been sent by Mustang to help construct a waste water treatment and filtration facility. The new servant's bath house was their test project at it worked magnificently. As much as the servants dreaded Armstrong's supervision, this was the high point of their day:  
"YOU MAY NOW EVACUATE YOUR BOWELS!" He bellowed cheerfully. "A SOUND MIND—A SOUND BODY-AND A SOUND DIGESTIVE TRACT! YES! THAT'S THE SECRET OF WHOLESOME LIVING! A DIET OF RICH FOOD, TOO MUCH WINE AND NOT ENOUGH FIBER WON'T PUT COLOR IN YOUR CHEEKS! NINETY PERCENT OF YOUR SLUGGISHNESS IS DUE TO THE PUTREFACTION OF THE RESIDUE OF YOUR EXTRAVAGANT DIET INSIDE YOUR LOWER INTESTINES! "  
"Bugger that," one fellow was heard to remark. "I'm just glad to know I can perch on the shitter and not worry about a sewer rat crawling up my bum hole."  
"And no splinters—"  
"-ugh! No cockroaches—"  
"-no seeing someone else's last breakfast stopping up the bowl-"  
After what came to be known as the "shit, shower and shave show", they were marched into the servant's dining hall for brimming bowls of flaked grains, lavishly scattered with chopped fruit and raw nuts and seeds. He took away their café, thick with cream and heavily sweetened, giving them fresh squeezed juices and decaffeinated tea. In less than 48 hours two-thirds of them developed thundering migraines from caffeine withdrawal and more than a few fistfights broke out.

The alchemists helped tremendously, rerouting and repairing the rotten tile pipes from previous centuries but the cleaning was done by hand. Boiling water, vinegar, bleach, soap and an army of scrub brushes scoured every inch of the castle with such a flurry that the royals and their staff fled to the guest quarters just to get out of harm's way.  
Strolling through the corridors, Claudio remarked to Dr. Knox that it smelled peculiar.  
"Doesn't smell like shit," the doctor replied. "Feeling better?"  
The crown prince nodded. "Sii! The coughing—it is nearly done. It is good to be able to draw a deep breath these days."  
"Armstrong's a freak of nature—don't get me wrong—but seems like that staff of yours is looking livelier. "  
Claudio shook his head. "But to give up wine—our fine cuisine—"  
"Food in Central is nearly as bad, but Ramsay makes sure Mustang's meals are at least occasionally healthy. You got the best chefs on the continent. Put 'em to work. If the staff gets two healthy meals a day, that'll be enough."

A the end of seven days, the Sun King—himself much improved after Knox's treatment—inspected his palace and promptly awarded the doctor and the strongman with honorary titles of nobility as was the royal custom. Knox received the title Duca Di Discrezione Medica (Duke of Medical Discretion), a gentle hint that the actual source of the mysterious illness would be locked in a filing cabinet in some obscure basement-and that Knox's head would be locked in there with it should he discuss his findings with the press.  
Through his grateful tears, Alex pondered the title he had been endowed with. "COULD YOU KINDLY TRANSLATE THIS FOR ME?" He handed the scroll to a Baldrick whose head throbbed from caffeine withdrawal and whose insides rumbled rebelliously from unaccustomed fiber but sported clean fingernails and no longer mopped the toilet and his prince's water jug with the same rag.  
"Lessee-Conteggio Dei Troni Della Porcellana (Count of the Porcelain Thrones)…I can't put it in your language so good…but it's about shining white seats of power…."  
Armstrong knuckled back a tear. "I'LL HAVE IT EMBLAZONED ON MY COAT OF ARMS!"  
Baldrick slunk away, laughing under his breath. "You do that, Lord Shithouse…you do that…."  
#  
At the sound of smashing glass, Pyotir blotted his lips with his napkin and offered a feeble smile to Professor Lobachevsky. "Well, you know the old saying, da? Nothing says you've made a name for yourself in this village like a mob armed with pitchforks and torches."  
"GIVE US ELRIC!"  
Ed cleared his throat nervously. "Damn…I thought I had returned those library books-"  
"—this town doesn't have a library," Maxim corrected.  
"-unless you count the Glavnyi Universalnyi Magazin mail order catalog they use in the outhouse for paper," Alexi clarified. "Not too glossy, the pages. Does not leave ink stains on your shorts afterwards."  
Alphonse looked up from his chocolate and rum soufflé and sighed aloud. "It's me, sir. I suppose I'd better go and get it over with."  
Ed snatched at his brother's arm. "AL! Don't do this—it's not even your baby! Even Nataly says you're not the father!"  
Fuck…look at his eyes…he doesn't want to do this…he knows it's wrong but he can't turn his back on a girl in real trouble. "They'll beat her, Ed. You don't understand." He glanced at Alexi, who could not look Al in the eye. "Remember how it is in the country? You have to make a match and that's the way it is. That's how they survive, like it is in Resembool. Yeah…and the match everybody—including Winry—made for me didn't make me happy in the end. All it did was hurt us both. "I'll go out and talk to them."  
Lobachevsky didn't say a word to stop him. Neither did Alexi.  
'I wish old Chen would fire up the Xerxes and get he out of here," Maxim sighed. Chen had spent much of his time traveling to rural medical clinics and teaching at Stoltovgrad and Lobachevsky had just sent him off again to visit an area stricken with a plague long believed to be a thing of the past. Chen could easily treat the patients and answered the summons without argument.  
"I don't believe he'd go," Pyotir sighed.  
"Alphonse has a forgiving heart." Lobachevsky glared at Alexi over his brandy.  
"Fuck this," Ed growled, throwing down his napkin. "I'm not going to let him face those bastards alone."  
Alphonse was pallid and sweating. "Brother," he whispered, and the hand that clasped Edward's shoulder was shaking. "I can't let them shame her…I just can't."  
"Al….you've got your whole life ahead of you….and…and…" he was grasping at straws, I know there's other…you know….I mean, you like May Chang—maybe not enough to marry her….and Julia! You know you promised to come see her—she wrote to me this morning to tell me how she's looking forward to seeing you…and…uh Did Ed really want to say it out loud, what he saw in his brother's eyes whenever he spoke or thought about home?  
Yeah. I'm going there. "There's….uh…Winry."  
A black clad figure shoved Ed aside, nearly knocking him to his knees.  
"—and then there's me."  
#  
Charles Foster put down his sandwich. Just the thought of trying to swallow made him want to vomit. You do what you gotta do. He glanced across the café where Nina Elric and Elicia Hughes were squealing and ducking as Maes sucked up bits of ice from his lemonade and blew them across the table with his straw. That blond soldier, Havoc, told him to cut it out, threatening to gobble up all of Maes' fried potatoes if he didn't stop. Instantly distracted, the little boy stared down at his plate and then yelped that there wasn't enough ketchup on his plate. "C'mon, give me a break, kid!" Havoc teased. "There's enough ketchup to float the whole Xingese navy!"  
Old Rosemario shuffled over with a fresh bottle. "S'okay," Havoc told him with a grin. "Gotta get it out from the bottom. Upturning the bottle, he smacked it hard. "Shoot the blood, kid! That's how to do it!"  
"Ewwwww!" Elycia wrinkled her nose in disgust.  
Nina eyed her brother. "Bad. B….a….d…unkajean." She poked out her tongue at him and giggled.  
Rosemario chatted softly with his customers, picked Nina's napkin off the floor for the hundredth time and pulled a quarter-sen coin out of his ear to make Elycia giggle. "Oh, I'm so glad you came to work here, Mr Rosemario!" she cried, clapping her hands!. "And you always know what flavor Kookie Kats we like and Mommy's favorite soup and…and everything!"  
The old man tapped his sweaty forehead. "Is all in here, signorina! Old Rosmario, he forgets nothing! I know you come back tomorrow-we have the big radio-we gonna hear radio from Drachma, all about how you papa he patted Nina on the head, he gonna fly like a bird, first time ever! Is a big day! The world—it's gonna change and we dance in the street!" Popping his callused fingers, the old man did a little jig and bowed, then ducked back into the kitchen.  
Bile rose up in Foster's throat. "Change the world…if only…." He shoved his plate away and buried his face in his hands.  
When he glanced up, Nina Elric was staring at him. She traced letters in the air. "S….a…..d. Sad. Sad."

 

The smells from the sausage cart on the corner made him want to vomit. Even worse was the sight of Heymans Breda and that Tringham guy who found the bullet casings smearing great globs of mustard and mayonnaise and ketchup on their food. Tringham smacked the bottom of the ketchup dispenser. "Shoot the blood—that's what they say in the mess hall," Breda joked.  
Shoot the blood, kid. That's the way you do it.  
"Just shoot…."  
A coin chimed in the payphone slot. It took a while to get through. "It's me. I….I don't know if I can do this. The risk….what if …no, I don't think anybody suspects…yes, I have it. I know how to use it…I just…"  
Shoot the blood, kid. That's how you do it.  
"-tomorrow, then. I'll….yeah…You'll know. Don't know how you'd not know. Okay."  
When he turned around, Breda was wolfing down his second sausage and laughing as Tringham hit the ketchup too hard. It spurted like a severed vein and splattered Foster's newly shined shoes.  
He fled into the alley and vanished into the twilight…..  
…TO BE CONTINUED….


	29. THE TASTE OF SUMMERWINE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mysterious “Man in Black” who disrupts Al’s shotgun wedding is revealed—but there’s even more surprises as the father of Nataly’s child is revealed---but the biggest surprises is waiting under the moonlight for Ed to return to his aeroplane…

THE TASTE OF SUMMERWINE  
By The Binary Alchemist

"Al….you've got your whole life ahead of you….and…and…" Ed was grasping at straws, trying to remind his brother that Al was still young, he was not the father of Nataly's child and to jump hastily into marriage—even with the best of intentions—was a horrible mistake. I know there's other…you know….I mean, you like May Chang—maybe not enough to marry her….and Julia! You know you promised to come see her in Milos—she wrote to me this morning to tell me how she's looking forward to seeing you…and…uh—there's Winry, and—"

A black clad figure shoved Ed aside, nearly knocking him to his knees.  
"—and then there's me."  
A black hood was snatched away, revealing a black ponytail as thick as man's wrist and crackling black eyes to match. "I gave him his first kiss and in Wisteria Valley everybody knew we were engaged-right, Alphonse?"  
"RUBY?"  
Ed's bodyguard tossed her head, grabbed at the holsters slung on her curvy hips and spun a pair of well polished six-shot pistols on her fingers before sheathing them again. "I'm sorry, Nataly, but spit don't make babies. Al's saving the good stuff for me. We announced ourselves as engaged back when he was-oh, honey, how long ago was that?"

Al recalled their mission to investigate Wisteria, the Valley of White Petals and the alleged desert paradise that had been based solely on the principle of equivalent exchange. He'd been all of fourteen-and in armor-and if his helmet could have blushed it would have at the kiss she pressed on the cold metal, assuring him that if he someday needed a real fiancée she would be interested in taking the job.

Ed flung an arm around his brother and his nemesis. "Yep, that's the truth of it! I'm a witness! So I guess the wedding's off, right?"  
There was a laconic drawl from the doorway behind them. "I beg to differ, Signor Elric."  
"PEEHOLE?"

Signor Pio Ignacio Bacalla, envoy from the royal court of Aerugo. Former Castellan of Prince Claudio Rico Aerugo, who had privately expressed his displeasure in Bacalla's disagreeable behavior to the extent that the when he returned he expected to be banished from the Privy Counsel to the privy—period. Instead of wielding innuendo and intimidation, he would probably wind up wielding a toilet brush and a mop for the rest of his days. Unlike his rather ruthless grandsire, Claudio believed it was far more effective to put a man's ego on a pike, as opposed to his head. The Prince had humiliated him, demoted him and scuttled his plans to rise to power in the royal household.  
In the face of overwhelming obstacles and opposition he did what the Bacalla family had done since his first ancestor crawled out of his cave, swung his club at a tribal chieftain and missed:  
He buggered off and kept his hide intact.

He strode into the crowd, knelt at the feet of an astonished, Nataly, and offered her a thick gold ring bearing the Bacalla family crest: a serpent biting the hand that held it captive, along with the motto "Ogni uomo per sè"every man for himself"). "Signorina Asimov, I have served royalty all my life. I am a man of rare wit and refinement and an excellent judge of opportunity. It is your father's wish that you make a good match, si? I have land, I have a name that has been associated with Aerugoan nobility for centuries…and I find I have grown very fond of this country and its people. I can offer your father a sizeable dowry—and what is more, I believe that with your remarkable knowledge of dairy products, the incomparable quality of your father's cheeses and my own knack for the culinary arts and brilliant business acumen, we can make a fortune. Your family will never go hungry and our children will inherit the Bacalla lands and properties in Aerugo, to keep or to sell as he or she pleases. Plus, he rose and tapped the rather prominent beak that made people laugh at him as a boy, "you know what they say about gentlemen with big feet and long noses…." The crowd tittered,—and when it comes to learning Drachman I think you'll find I'm as…cunning a linguist as even Alphonse Elric. Do we have a match?"  
They did indeed.

"Of course, we will have another wedding—a proper church wedding and invite all the relatives Farmer Asimov roared as he downed his fifth glass of vodka. And you'll be a big help, son, on the farm—"  
Bacalla waved his new in-law away.—love to, Papa dear, but Nataly and I will be relocating to Stoltovgrad. Professor Lobachevsky has offered me permanent position teaching culinary arts at the University, while Nataly and I will be opening up our own import shop—we'll be able to bring your humble cheeses to the masses-"  
Alphonse stepped up to the bride who seemed a bit dazed but smiling. "You're sure this will be all right?"  
She smiled at him gently. "Da, my sweet Alphonse. And once I am safely in Stoltovgrad Papa will not beat me once he sees my beautiful little one—how different he will look. His eyes…his hair…so unlike my people but beautiful, even so."  
"Will you and Pio stay married?"  
She looked thoughtful. "He is handsome. I am helping him escape the anger of the prince and he is helping me escape my father and give a fine life for my child." She leaned forward and kissed Alphonse gently on the cheek. "It was your friend Ruby who thought of this. She is very, very kind."  
"Don't say that too loudly around my brother or your new husband," Al laughed, but yes, she is. And we weren't ever really engaged. I would have married you and I would have tried to make you happy." He sobered a little. "Will you be lonely?"  
She dimpled and shook her head. "I am not the first woman to love a man who must wander the world, but surely the Xerxes will bring us back together again."  
"And I'm sure Emperor Ling will love to meet you. You're family now, you know."  
"Da! My Chen-Chen told me he is the 42nd heir to the Chrysanthemum Throne. And he will put our names in the court registry. Is sad," she sighed a little, "that we must hide our feelings, but Professor Lobachevsky has covered very well for us, keeping Chen-Chen away so that my father would not suspect. Now, with dear Pio and the Professor to help us, no one will laugh at my little one."

Ed, a little drunk on summerwine and grinning hugely, socked his brother playfully in the shoulder. "You guys had me going, right up to the end. You could have told me, jerk!"  
Al smiled serenely at his brother. "Well…when I wouldn't…you know…and Nataly wanted…you know…I talked privately to Chen-San since he came up with the idea for your and Roy and your-"  
"I know!" Ed cut him off nervously, the thought of that wooden box with the…presents…inside made him color dramatically.  
"Well, being a doctor, I sent him over to see her and…well…you know…"  
"I'd rather not," Ed stammered, and Nataly smiled at him.  
"Chen-Chen is very, very skilled. There is a thing doctors do here, called 'handebungen'. To help the lady keep her womb toned and healthy—Alphonse knows this but with the mouth only—he—"  
Al noted the horrified look on his sibling's face and interrupted. "Anyway, Chen-san goes to visit and the two of them got on very well-until Mr. Asimov told him to go away. He thought Chen-san was just learning about churning fresh milk…"  
"Da! But milk wasn't all he was churning—so I say 'you must go' but by that time—"  
"-they'd gone too far," Al finished for her. "Farmer Asimov was going to marry her off to someone with property and when she found out she was pregnant, he decided I was the best candidate, even if I wasn't the father."  
"Da! I may love Chen-san, but he cannot stay here. It is not for him to settle down. I agree to arranged marriage, but not to dear Alphonse, who loves another—"  
Al quickly cut her off again," So Ruby had been following me around—"  
"What the fuck is she doing here?" Ed interrupted.  
"Roy sent her as a bodyguard—for you, but also for me—just to be sure nobody started any trouble. I caught her following me, we had a long talk about Nataly and so she suggested I talk to Pio. The prince is really mad at him and he doesn't want to go home-and when we talked he thought it was the perfect solution."  
Ed looked suspicious. "So all that talk about him being a real husband to her—"  
"Chen-san says in Xing men may take many wives—why should a woman not take many husbands?" She smoothed her massive breasts. "I am certain I will not wear out. Now, Edward, Tovarich, your Roy Mustang, he has Xingese blood, da?"  
"Right—on his mother's side."  
" Then with more Xingese blood my baby may be even handsomer than he is!"  
Ed grinned maliciously. "Oh, I hope so. I'll love throwing that up in his face someday. But it's gonna be hard sometimes, Nataly. I mean, being apart from someone you…I…I mean…uh…"  
The bride laughed and leaned down for her handbag. "Not so hard as you think." She passed the bag to him and he peered inside.  
His face flamed so hot and so red that Roy could have melted ice cold butter on the back of his neck. "Uh….yeah. Riiiight. Oh-okayyyy."  
Alphonse winked. "Amazing what they can do with silicone and vulcanized rubber these days, isn't it?"

 

He carried the summerwine out to the Amestris, leaving the others to their merriment. His mood was thoughtful. There's being alone and being lonely. He was a little both and the wine made him introspective.  
"I'm gonna whip Mustang's sorry ass for sending Ruby up here," he grumbled aloud." What—does he think I need a fuckin' babysitter?"  
Yeah, said the other side of his logic, but she was the one who got your letters back and forth that fast. And she got Al out of a jam. So…?

Disgusted, he sucked down another mouthful and gazed across the night sky. Fucker's somewhere out there, watching the same stars, probably with Maes and Nina..  
He wanted them here, beside him in the meadow tonight.. No point in fighting with himself over it. He didn't want Maes and Nina see him take off, but right now, under this brilliant canopy of stars and a fat summer moon hanging in the trees over the meadow, he wanted his family close enough to put his arms around them. And while he did not prescribe to the 'next best thing is getting drunk" school of coping with homesickness, the wine farmer Janov pressed with berries and sweet woodruff was cool in the mouth and warm in the belly and brought the stars closer somehow. I'll be the first one to fly—but maybe Maes or Nina's kids will see the stars up close, closer that even my telescope can show me-  
"Edward? Are you all right, my friend?"  
Damn. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Pyotir's company, but tonight the sky was too bright, the moon too close and there was a scrap of paper in his breast pocket that had been folded and refolded enough to make the creases soft and blurred some of the words but none of the sentiment. "Everything okay up there'?"  
The Drachman laughed and nodded. "Chen-tovarich has spoken discreetly to the bride and groom and it seems they have come to an agreement, it seems" He shook his head in amused disbelief. "So strange it is, that things have worked out the way they have done."  
Ed closed his eyes. The wind had lifted, and it smelled of the green river, the headiness of night blooming flowers, engine oil and the clean, honest smell of the dried rosemary and herbs that Pyotir folded into his sun-dried laundry, just the way his mother Anushka had done. The breeze was a caress and he yanked his tie free, unbuttoned his waistcoat and opened his shirt. Rosy nipples tightened. He imagined Roy there in the garden of the dacha, a crowd of Nataly's friends and aunts flashing bright eyes at him, grinning inwardly at how they would pout so prettily when the older man reached out and curled his fingers over Ed's shoulder. That touch and a shared, knowing smile would be more eloquent than a thousand declarations of love. Mine, Roy's glance would tell him. Mine, Ed's grin would answer back.  
He opened his eyes and offered the bottle to his companion. "What about Alexi?"  
"He is going back tonight with Lobachevsky. He doesn't want to talk about it."  
Ed shrugged. "Well, hell—I mean, she said herself that she had waited and he never said a word, never even kissed her."  
"You think he was wrong?"  
"I think it cost him a girl who probably wasn't right for him all along. But, y'know, he missed the chance to find out. He should have—I dunno—held her hand or kissed her or…or something. Something to let her know. Winry left it too late and asked me when I was upset about Al going off on his own and I felt all guilty that she had waited. If she had said something long before that we…I….might have had a chance to figure out what I felt before signing a marriage registry. She should have told me something before…y'know? Just like Roy waited for Hughes an' then found out he'd hooked up with Gracia. I guess I think it's just…better to tell someone what you feel, even if they don't return it. Then you know where you stand and you can go on from there."  
"You believe that?"  
'Yeah. I do."  
Pyotir took him at his word.  
The Amestrian's mouth was so, so warm. Warm and silky and sweet to the tongue like summerwine and strawberries. The sweat on his neck tasted faintly metallic and his fingertip traced the indentation on his collarbone where the automail socket had been drilled and the steel bolted on. Pyotir leaned in close, allowing himself to capture a handful of heavy blonde hair and inhaled.  
The lips were parted just enough…just enough. His tongue flickered delicately, seeking welcome.  
Once the Drachman had drawn back, Edward lifted the bottle of summerwine and studied it in the moonlight. There was enough for what he needed to do now.  
He clasped Pyotir's shoulder, much as Roy would do.

"Let's go down to the river."  
….TO BE CONTINUED


	30. HIS REASONS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ed is caught off guard when his Drachman colleague makes ardent advances on him on a hot summer night when Ed is lonely, drunk and far from home—and he’s the only one that didn’t see it coming. Roy has anticipated this moment for months…and waited. Meanwhile, Izumi shows Pitt her opinion of his interest in Winry is rather sharp—sharp enough to carve with.

HIS REASONS  
By The Binary Alchemist

"Brother?

Edward staggered up the steps. He wasn't drunk anymore. Alphonse tossed his book aside to help his sibling but Ed just waved him away.  
"Brother….are you all right? What happened?"  
Ed folded himself into a battered armchair and pulled up his knees under his chin, wrapping his arms tightly around his legs. His eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck…"  
"Ed! What did-"  
Ed pressed his face against his upraised knees and shook his head. "No…Al…no…"  
Alphonse studied him for a long time. Then he laid a gentle hand on the tangled, sweaty hair. "Coffee's on," he said softly. "I'll be right back."  
#  
He didn't like the smell of it and the weight of it did not feel good in his hand. The tips of the bullets felt greasy and he fumbled as he tried to push them into the chamber. How many do I need to end a life? He could point a camera. Sure. Easy. But pointing a gun, twitching a trigger finger and sending one of those tiny projectiles into…no…through…a human brain…could he do it?  
His shots were sure to go wild so he needed to fill all six chambers. Small targets are harder to hit. His instructions were simple. "Six shots. Drop the gun. Walk away. I'll get you out of the picture" In the midst of the cheering and celebration and fireworks, nobody would recognize the pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop! as gunfire until it was too late.  
He'd watched his quarry. He knew the moves, the habits. The timing couldn't be better.  
It made him sick at his stomach, and when the phone jangled at his elbow his insides knotted and he nearly shat himself.  
"Yeah….of course I'll be covering it. Wouldn't miss it for the world—lots of great human interest angles. Great day for the Elrics. Hope the kids get plenty of sleep tomorrow night. Gonna be a lot of excitement. Yeah. Lunch where? I was thinking of Gattina—that new alchemic cooling system sure feels good on a hot day. They're gonna have brisket on the menu, Rosemario says, and those Resembool lamb pasties—bet that's for the Elric kids—real home cooking. Nah, tomorrow I'm taking off, 'cause it's gonna be a full day after that, yessir. Okay, Donal, see you then."  
#  
They didn't talk about it. It was safer not to, and there was nothing he would do to risk this fragile, tentative happiness. It was too, too soon for her and she was worth waiting for.  
A three day visit to Rush Valley had stretched to three months. They worked as a team now and if she recognized how right it felt she didn't say a word. Every time she smiled at him, though, it warmed him straight through.  
She had asked when his train to Central was scheduled and looked genuinely disappointed. To his surprise, Sig and Izumi Curtis came up for a weekend and he could feel the older woman's eyes on him at every turn. When she finally smiled, he was weak with relief. One afternoon when they were alone in the kitchen, she held a knife to his throat. "Can I trust you to be good to the kids?  
"Yes!"  
"Don't make me kill you."  
"I won't. Ma'am!"  
The knife thudded into the table. It stuck about an inch and a half deep. "And if you lay one finger on her, my darling husband will push you feet first through the grinder and whatever pink slime comes out will be made into sausages—and will be fed to Winry's dog. Understand?"  
"Yes, Ma'am!"  
She patted his head, offered him a cherubic smile and left him there at the table. "Nice meeting you, Pitt! Have a safe trip and give our love to Ed and Alphonse!"  
#  
"What else are you planning?"  
Old Faust leaned on his broom and peered over Rosemario's shoulder where the sandwich master was scribbling notes.  
"Just desserts—I already ordered the spiced lamb to go on the spits tonight—the pasties will be wonderful, don't worry. And the brisket—yes, will melt in your mouth! The Drachman desserts—very simple, very fresh. Oladi—a type of fried griddle cake—rolled with summer strawberries and a bit of sour cream. So light they float off the plate! Little sponge cakes also—no more than three bites—with such dark, sweet cherries! And the speakers for the wireless are working so well! Day after tomorrow and we will be in the future—the age of air travel!"  
"Good! I don't want anything to spoil such a perfect day!"  
#  
"GOTCHA!"

Jean Havoc scooped Maes up by his armpits and held him out at arms length, scolding him gently. "Lissen, sport, is there a particular reason you poured gravy on the cook's cat?"  
Enormous golden eyes blinked up at him, utterly guileless. "I dunno."

Tonight Roy had missed dinner with the family. Ramsay's roast beef was so tender it fell to shreds, but to Maes and Nina the real treat were the "smashed potatoes". Uncle Jean had shown the children how to make little craters in the fluffy piles and he carefully ladled a little of the rich brown gravy into the middles. Nina learned a new spelling word"Y-u-m" and Maes had to be stopped from drinking it straight out of the gravy boat.  
He had liked it so much that when he snuck into Ramsay's kitchen before bed to filch a cookie or two he looked around the kitchen to see if the gravy was still around. Turned out Ramsay had it out on the counter, planning to use it to make open faced sandwiches with the sliced up bits of the leftover roast as a late supper for a few of the security detail. Maes found Ramsay's cat Sam on the counter lapping at the gravy boat. Crawling up on a chair, Maes tried to pour some out for the kitty to lick and instead dumped the whole of it right over poor Sam's head. The grey tabby took off like a shot with Maes thundering after him, gravy flying everywhere. Sam found an open door and dashed through it, Maes right behind him.  
Unfortunately, it had been the door to Roy's office, and three Ishballan priests meeting with Roy and Miles were covered with greasy brown paw prints and cat hair. Fortunately, the priests were all tolerant of small, mischievous boys and animals. "Ishballa made children loveable so they will live past childhood," one nodded. Roy gritted his teeth, rang for Havoc and managed to calmly request that he fetch his charge and clean him up-oh, and to get that blasted cat bathed before Ramsay started throwing crockery in rage, being very fond of his kitty.

Pinako found Roy in the kitchen eating cold leftover roast beef between thick slices of sour country bread with plenty of mustard and washing it down with a cold beer. "Want some pickles?"  
Roy licked some mustard off his thumb and nodded. She fetched herself a slice of peach cobbler and a cup of coffee and joined him at the table. Roy apologized for wolfing down his meal. "It's a fast day of obligation for the Ishballans, so it would have been rude to eat or drink in front of them. I'm starving."  
"Well, I hope you can talk Ramsay to part with his recipes and send them back to Dublith with the kids. Even Nina wanted seconds tonight and the dilled carrots went down without a fuss."  
Roy nodded. "At least Izumi will know I wasn't starving them, I believe they've both grown a couple of inches."  
Pinako agreed, stirring more cream in her coffee. "I had my doubts about you for awhile, son, but I'd say you've done well enough as a father. I said as much to Izumi tonight."  
"You've spoken to her?"  
'Yes. She'll be up to meet Ed and Al when the Xerxes arrives. A week, you said?"  
'Give or take a few days. Ed's glider will be transported by rail."  
Not asking permission, she lit up her kiseru pipe. "You're gonna let the kids hear the broadcast?"  
"Here, not at Gracia's or out in public." He rolled the now-empty beer bottle between his palms, looking pensive. "I've invited the Hughes family to join us."  
"Faust has a big celebration at Il Gattina, with Resembool and Drachman food and music and the kids were planning on going."  
"No."  
She puffed in silence for awhile. "Mind telling me why?"  
His eyes leveled to meet hers. "Ten second time delay on our in house broadcast. If….anything happens…I don't want them in the middle of some public crowd, screaming and panicking because their father…didn't…." His hand waved in a helpless gesture as his voice trailed off. "If he….I…they will hear it from me. I don't want Donal Samuelson or that Foster idiot or someone else to ask my son if he's sad that his father is-"  
"Stop that right now." She gave him a stern gaze and tapped the ashes out of her pipe. "He could crash his glider. He could get hit by a bus. He might trip in the bathroom and hit his head on the tub. We could all die tomorrow. You're a soldier. You know that better than most. But he can also live, Roy. And that's what you need to think about. I do see your point—but if everything goes well, we take them to the square and we celebrate with the rest of Central." It was not a suggestion.  
"Yes, Ma'am!"

There was a discreet hemm-hemming from the doorway." What is it, Sebastian?"  
"Call for you sir. Long distance from Drachma. It's Mr. Alphonse."  
"I'll take it in my office—and hold all calls. I don't want to be disturbed." Nodding to Pinako, he told her he'd check on the children later. Alphonse calling? That's disturbing enough already…  
#  
His hands trembled. Another drink. Another glass of courage. Less than 48 hours and it would be done.  
And then what?

There would be no coup now. Only someone madder than himself would have counted on it. The Good Gentleman was dead, killed by Fullmetal and Greed. Betrayed by his own son. The Undead Army? Dead. The Failed Candidates? Dead. The Doctor who helped create Bradley? Dead. And, truthfully, was the Old Guard capable of staging a coup that would oust Mustang, especially with the media, the Parliament and the people behind him? He'd been down in his hole like a bloated, poisoned toad all summer, coming out at night to whisper words of treason, to leak bits of old rumor and scandal to that fool Foster, who managed to get them into print. Never on the front page. Not until tomorrow.  
Bradley would have gazed at him over his teacup and called the headline a flea bite. Old news, Edison. Hardly relevant. I'm certain that the population will simply shrug their shoulders and then hang up another poster of Edward Elric and that Drachman Pyotir-something-or-other, looking heroic alongside that…aeroplane? Was that what they were calling it?  
"I am going to die." It was the first time he had said it aloud. "Probably," he qualified. But the bullet, at least, would wound do its work and even if Mustang's pretty head was never even grazed by a powder burn the damage would be done.  
He drank straight from the bottle he'd bought off the old man who ran the bakery. Never had a clue who I am. But then, General Edison was just an other face staring out of the newsprint he wrapped his garbage in. The man who rents this room to me doesn't know me. The man who hires the gardening staff at the Palace didn't know me, nor did that Tringham boy who found my bullets-or the punk ass young alchemist in the street who made me the silencer—said he used to work for McDougal. I didn't have enough cens even to buy the gun but Foster staked me to the weapon. I had to get on my knees for the custom silencer. Tasted worse that I thought it would, Don't know how Mustang stands it. A mouth full of some other man's jizz is a mouthful of submission. Bastard made me choke on it. Should have bitten it off.  
When his own hopes to rise to power came to nothing, he'd had to submit to Bradley's orders. To The Good Gentleman's. To Doctor Goold Tooth. To that damn cunt Armstrong and that Curtis Bitch who captured him years ago.

General Edison was done with submission. If he had to go out, it wouldn't be on his knees.  
#  
"Shit! Motherfuck!"  
His hands shook so hard Ed spilled hot coffee on his shirt. He swallowed another mouthful but waved off the plate of honey biscuits his brother offered him. "Okay….oooookay…I…shit." He shoved the cup back into Al's fingers and scrubbed his face vigorously with both hands. "I can't believe I…."  
Al was really worried now. "Ed? What happened? Talk to me!"  
"There was….a…wrench…on the control panel. I was sitting on the edge of the cockpit and Pyotir…he was kinda drunk…drunker'n me…we were shooting the shit and he..he…"  
"-came on to you?" Al finished.  
'Yeah. And if I'd be one drink further down that bottle I…I would have…Al, when he put his tongue in my mouth I already had it in my hand. I could have killed him, goddamn it!" He groaned softly, as if the hangover was making an early arrival. "He's like a brother to me—like an older brother and the son of a bitch just—"  
Alphonse cut in quickly. "It's okay—I don't need the details, Ed."  
"Not my dick-he didn't touch my dick, but he…licked my neck and touched my chest…and my hair…and I was so fuckin' shocked my jaw just dropped open and then the next thing I know here comes this tongue-"Ed reached for the coffee again, gulped down a steaming mouthful before going on. "And I'm so shocked and freaked out and before I knew it the wrench was in my hand-"  
"—but you didn't hit him?"  
Edward shook his head. "No. But almost. Like a reflex, Al….like-"  
"-something you've seen a hundred times before?"  
"Yeah." He sighed. "God, don't tell Winry. I'll never hear the end of it."  
#  
He lay on his back in the darkness until he was absolutely sure Edward wasn't coming back. The younger man had draped an old army blanket over Pyotir before leaving him there under the tree alongside the river, assuming that the Drachman would sleep off his drunk. The night was warm enough and the worst that could happen would be a stiff neck and mosquito bites.  
He wish he had been drunk. The embarrassment would have been easier to bear….

"Saw this coming a mile away, dipshit."  
The woman in black squatted down in the grass beside him. "Don't pull that gun on me again!" he pleaded. Ruby grinned in the dark, duck in her rucksack and passed him a canteen full of cold tea with lots of sugar. He drank gratefully, and when she offered him a small bottle of aspirins he actually smiled at her.  
"Anything hurt?"  
The handsome blond shook his head. "My pride, perhaps."  
"Hurts worse than a whack upside the head sometimes. Believe me, I know," she sighed. "Told you this would happen. Warned you when I caught you sneaking around, watching him jacking off-"  
"-you were watching too," Pyotir reminded her bitterly.  
"Mustang pays me to watch over him. And a couple of times I wanted to pop out my eyeballs and wash them in bleach. What I've seen can't be unseen. Damn…that…thing…with the red string…what kind of sick bastard came up with that, I ask you?"  
"So," Pyotir shook a couple of aspirins into his hand, "Mustang doesn't trust him?"  
Ruby socked him hard on the shoulder. "For someone who's as pretty as you are, you're kinda stupid. No, dumbass. There's somebody—some people, maybe—running around Central trying to kill the Fuhrer. You heard about the shots fired at the Palace, right? Roy Mustang's not afraid to face down a sniper—and he's got his best people watching Ed's kids and Pinako. But he can't protect Ed-and without alchemy Ed might not be able to protect himself from a long range attack. I can shoot the crab lice off Bacalla's ass hairs. I trained under the best there is—Riza Hawkeye. So until this sniper mess is cleared up and while Ed's here, I will tail the son of a bitch and Alphonse and I will watch their backs and if some jerk tries to make Al pay for someone else's mistake—or some good looking guy who's missing his boyfriend gets all moony-eye'd and makes the move on Ed-I'm gonna make a pest of myself and stuck my nose in where it doesn't belong….because that's what I do. Got it?"  
#  
He was stalking angrily around the parlor, shouting angrily, and Al was thankful that Alexi had gone back with Lobachevsky, Chen was out of town and Maxim was still at the tavern, drinking toasts to the newly-weds when the party had moved from the dacha to a location where they wouldn't scare the hens out of laying. "Goddamn it Al! I'm fucking sick of this!" his brother ranted. "This is just like Winry—just like Winry! You get really close to someone…you think of them like family. Then out of the blue, all of a sudden—NO GODDAMN WARNING—they're up in your face, kissin' on you-or crying—goddamned waterworks!-and they want…they…"  
"Come here, Ed." Alphonse stepped up and pulled his brother into his arms, tucking the smaller man's head down on his shoulders. He hugged his older brother tightly and briskly rubbed his shoulders. "It's never 'all of a sudden', Ed. You just miss the signals, that's all. That's just the way it is with you. It's not good or bad. Your mind is always focused on the task at hand, not the people around you. So you don't see what's going on with a person until it's too late. And," he kissed the top of his sibling's head affectionately, "when it comes to romance, you're dumb as a post. You have no idea how many students have crushes on you! Happens to me too—but I can see it coming and find ways to defuse it so nobody gets hurt."  
"Sorry."  
Al laughed softly. "It's okay, Ed. How did you handle Pyotir?"  
"When I took him down to the river, I said, 'so—tell me about Nicholai….how did you meet?' I got him to talk to me about Niky—where he grew up, how he became a sailor, how they got together—y'know, shit like that. I kept after him to keep knocking back the summerwine, and talking about his lover and eventually he passed out. Put a blanket from the cockpit over him and rolled up his jacket and stuck it under his head and just left him out there."  
"Smartest thing you could have done."  
'When I see him tomorrow, I'm not gonna say shit about this kissing stuff."  
"Good idea. He's a real friend, Ed. He's worth keeping. Don't let this come between you if you can help it." He let his brother go with a gentle slap on the shoulder. "He's kind of like Winry."  
Ed paused in the doorway, turned and grinned at his brother. "I ain't having kids with him. That would fuckin' hurt."  
"If you start to swell up and crave pickles, I'm going to assume you've ether got gas or Roy knows more about human alchemy than I ever suspected."  
"Screw you, Alphonse!"  
"No way!" his brother chuckled. "Even I'm not that perverted!"  
A half hour later Ed was tossing uneasily in his bed when Al slipped into the bedroom. "It's for you. It's Roy—and no, nothing's wrong."

The voice on the other end was low and made his cock twitch. "I heard from Ruby there was almost a wedding tonight. I suppose I'll have to ask Sheska to take that toaster I bought Al and Nataly back to the store for a refund."  
"Very funny."  
"So I take it there's not going to be another little Elric running around stuffing my best hat in the toilet, or hiding inside the grand piano or pouring gravy on the cat or yelling out 'BOOGER!' during press conferences and proudly announcing his flatulence at the dinner table as if it was an event of world changing consequence?"  
Ed sat up and burst out laughing, so hard that his sides ached. "You think he's bad? I was ten times worse!"  
"Let's not have any more children then, Ed. Mustn't push our luck."  
"Okay, I'll try not to knock you up."  
"I appreciate that," Roy chuckled dryly.  
"I got kissed tonight."  
Pause. "I'm assuming it wasn't Ruby."  
"Ruby woudn't even give me the Kiss of Life if I were drowning and you know it—and I'd want to scrub my mouth with soap afterwards. Ugh! No, "his voice became pensive. "It was Pyotir."  
#  
Roy had known before Alphonse called. Ruby had warned him. "This has to be Ed's decision," Roy had told the bodyguard. "I can't…correction…I won't tell him what to do."  
'You don't like it"  
"That's irrelevant. His actions are his own responsibility."  
And he had fought back the urge to dive headlong into the bottle. Another man. Another lover tempted when we were away from each other. Hughes met Gracia on a visit to Central. Ed meets Pyotir here but then spends a summer with him, every day, working side by side, shoulder to shoulder. I'm older…I've committed myself to a lifetime of national service, while that boy is free to go with Ed wherever they wish…  
It cost him everything to say it and Edward would never know.  
"From now on, Ruby, it's none of my business."  
#  
Roy waited silently. Finally he told his lover, "I will never, ever make your choices for you, Ed. Not anymore, unless it's to save your life for the sake of our children."  
The voice on the other end of the line sounded exhausted but relieved. "And that's why I put up with your crap, Mustang."  
Roy felt the tight knot in his gut relax. He would sleep well tonight after a session with a Xingese plaything, contemplating the photographs in his Owner's Manual. "Love you too, Ed."  
"G'night."  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	31. ".....LIKE THIS...."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the night before Ed’s first flight aboard the world’s first flying machine, a long-promised long distance rendezvous between Edward and Roy as they bring out the mysterious Third Gift of Dr. Chen from the special ‘toy boxes’ created to ‘occupy’ the lovers while far apart…

"LIKE THIS"  
By The Binary Alchemist

If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face  
and say, "Like this."  
When someone quotes the old poetic image about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,  
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings of your robe-Like this.  
When lovers moan, they're telling our story. Don't try to explain the miracle. Kiss me on the lips.  
Like this. Like this.

-ancient Ishballan love poem  
#  
"Mommy? I thought we were going to Il Gattina's to listen to Edward's flight. Everybody's going to be there!"  
Gracia gently swept her daughter's sandy brown hair back from her forehead. "Sweetie, we will, we will—but Uncle Roy has invited us to listen with Maes and Nina at the Palace. Mr. Sebastian said that Chef Ramsay is making a special breakfast for us and then we'll listen to the big radio in the Palace parlor and go down to Il Gattina at lunchtime. Mr. Rosemario says he will hold a table for all of us."  
'Uncle Roy too?"  
"Don't know for sure, but I asked him to join us and Mr. Rosemario said if he does come they'll make him the best sandwich in all Central."

Roy had called her earlier in the week on his private line, expressing his concern that, in the event of malfunction, the children be spared hearing it. "My radio officer has a ten-second delay setup. If there is an accident, he can cut the signal so the kids won't hear it."  
Gracia was genuinely concerned. 'Roy, is there a chance that Ed could be killed?"  
There was a long silence. "You may not be aware of all the attempts that have been made over the past hundred years to build flying machines. Balloons and airships are one thing—we are talking about heavier-than-air devices powered by gasoline engines. The Amestris is made of wood and fabric Drachman spruce with linen varnished with butyrate dope—safer than the nitrocellulose dope that caused his first test model to blow up—"  
"Goodness! I didn't know—"  
"—it was hushed up, as you can imagine. Pyotir was the one who came up with an alternative but it's still risky. Ed can't use alchemy and Pyotir is still an apprentice under Alphonse. Ed won't be able to rescue himself with a transmutation. He'll have to ride her down to the ground. But Pyotir's real genius is with the engines and Alphonse agrees that the craft is as sound as they can make it. The team has brought Ed's theories and designs to life and if all goes as well as it has in testing, Ed should be able to manage a short range controlled flight and land the craft. That first craft never made it to the testing field but so far Amestris is holding up. I just…" His voice trailed off and the concern in his silence was palpable.  
"Then it's a good idea. And when it's over there will be a lot to celebrate."  
"When it's over," Roy echoed.  
#  
"Awright—got the skinny on the Amestris from Elric." Donal Samuelson hung up the phone triumphantly. Ed had been loathe to release the final stats until he and the build team had completed the final design. He leaned into the microphone. "For those of you geniuses listening, here are some details of the first heavier-than-air flying machine: she is 8.54 meters long with a 12.29 meter wingspan and carries one passenger. Loaded up she weighs in about 323 kilos—and Ed says that's the maxim she can carry, so looks like he's not taking any friends along for the ride. She has water-cooled, 4-cylinder inline engines that produce about 15 kilowatts—two hand carved propellers per engine. Ed says he's estimating a top speed of—get this—about 56 kilometers an hour! Wow, that's amazing! And, of course, we will be bringing this historic event live to our listeners at 11am local time. And now, keeping with our theme of high flying adventure today, our cooking segment features Mile High Meringue Puffs , lighter than clouds and so delicious with those last summer strawberries—which I understand from our lovely Gracia are Ed's favorite fruit-isn't that right, Gracia?"  
#  
Ed shoved the sweaty fringe of heavy blonde hair out of his eyes with his forearm as he rechecked the guy wires of the starboard wing for the hundredth time. He glanced again at Alexi and Dr. Chen, both peering over Pyotir's shoulder to view some rough sketches of improvements the younger man hoped to implement when the build team in Drachma began work on the Ekaterina, their own aeroplane, this fall. Nobody's beating the crap out of anyone. Damn, that's a relief! The fact that Alexi was not at Chen's throat was due in large part to Lobachevsky escorting the furious Alexi to a certain gentleman's club near the university where three shots of vodka and three very charming devotchkas had offered him an evening of horizontal entertainment at the good professor's expense. By the time he'd picked up his young protégé for breakfast Alexi was whistling merrily and commented only, "Nataly who?"  
"Edward-Tovarich, you polish that wing any more and you will not have the arm strength to play with yourself tonight when your Roy calls!" Maxim shouted at him. "Alexi, get off your lazy ass and finish this. Edward has enough to do tomorrow."  
Alphonse stepped around from behind the tail rudder. "Inspection looks good so far, Ed. Look, you've got the whole build team going over it with magnifying glasses. You ought to take the rest of the day off so you'll be fresh and ready tomorrow."  
"Al, I-"  
'Chen-san?"  
The Xingese doctor bowed. "As mission medical specialist, I can order you to stop working for the good of the Amestris project. Will you go back to the house or shall I have your little brother carry you?"  
"I'll help," Ruby grinned from the sidelines." I can persuade him at gunpoint if need be."  
Ed threw down his polishing chamois in disgust. "You guys are all assholes. I give up."  
Ruby offered Alphonse a coquettish smile. "See? All I had to do was threaten him a little and he's putty in my hands….and you know what I do with putty? I like to smash it and squeeze it and beat it with my fist, and-"  
#  
"He's back."  
Chris Mustang stubbed out her cigarette. "Who?"  
"The old goat."  
"That describes half the men trying to get into my bed, honey—the half I'm not interested in. Who is it?"  
"The guy from Il Gattina. The sandwich guy. Wants to buy couple more kegs of beer and a case of vodka"  
Dark brows knitted together. "They're serving beer with those god-dammed Kookie Kats? That's revolting. Frosting and beer." She drained her coffee cup and signaled her bartender for a refill.  
"No this is for tomorrow. They're broadcasting Ed's flight live on their new radio so they've got to have grownup stuff too."

Chris had been selling old man Faust her best spirits for his rum cake and brandy-soaked Solstice cakes, as well as her strongest Drachman vodka for steeping with fresh lemons for his delicious limonchello. In recent weeks, they'd begun offering champagne truffles and cordial chocolates. It was good for business, and Chris, in turn, bought fresh breads and pastries for her restaurant. She liked old Faust, but Rosemario's sweaty bald head and chattering ways annoyed her. "Give him what he wants and get him out of here. Got no time to talk. At least not to him."  
Behind the closed door of her office she dialed a number she had long since committed to memory. "I smell a rat."  
"You figured that out, did you?" The old man on the other end of the line sounded perfectly delighted. "There's more than one way to kill a man. Remember what Fullmetal said about that night in the tunnels with Envy? Your boy's not as tough as you think. You hurt his loved ones—"  
She blew a stream of smoke into the mouthpiece of the receiver. "Over my dead body. The boy's got his plans? I got a few of my own."  
#  
"Where ya goin', Unka Roy?"   
Maes wanted to know at dinner. Uncle Roy had joined them for an early supper and was out of uniform—two things that did not add up in his little blond noggin. He speared a half dozen peas on his fork and then eyed Sebastian who was at the sideboard, replenishing the coffee that steamed fragrantly in the Drachman samovar that Ed had found in Stoltovgrad. It was made of heavy chased silver and its elegance convinced Roy that Alphonse had probably picked it out, considering Ed's deplorable taste in non-practical craftsmanship and art. Maes had enough innate sense of engineering know that if he flipped his fork at just the right angle there was a very good chance that the soft spoken major domo would be plucking vegetables out of his hair.  
"I'm going to see Aunt Chris and the later tonight I will be calling your father. I'll be sure to tell him what a good boy you've been—and that it never even crossed your mind to flip peas across the dinner table. After all, boys who flip peas are not all that hungry—so there's no sense saving any chocolate pudding for them, is there?"  
The loaded fork went down abruptly and Maes offered Roy a cherubic smile, as he quickly changed the subject.'lycia wrote a book!"  
"Did she?" Roy looked interested. "What kind of book"  
Pinako accepted a cup of coffee from Sebastian. "She made her own picture book with simple words so that Nina can read for her father when he gets home. It's about Ed. It's called 'Fly In the Sky'. "  
"That was very thoughtful of Elycia. Nina, your dad will be very proud of you."  
She beamed at him. 'I knowed."

It frightened him a little—no, it frightened him a lot. Ed and Al had been this precocious. At an age where most children were barely paying attention to nursery rhymes Nina—the pretty little mouse who smiled so much and spoke so seldom—was devouring the written words as her father once devoured tomes on alchemy. She worked so hard, so persistently, over each precious three or four letter word, her tiny hands still not able to control a pencil to shape the letters. Whatever it takes, she's going to get the best teachers in Amestris, I need to hire a private tutor to move to Dublith. Nina and Maes can't be held back or bored in public school. We'll teach them to love learning and encourage those hungry minds…I can't wait to see what mark this child and her brother are going to make on this world…  
#  
Pyotir was already in the car. He gunned the engine. Alexi raised his hand in farewell. "Good night, Edward!"  
"Good night. Now get out."  
Al grinned. "Have fun!"  
"Yeah, whatever—see you tomorrow."  
"Don't do anything that stains the wallpaper—"  
"—fuck off, Maxim!"  
His randy Drachman friend pulled a pitch pipe out of his pocket, sounded a note and conducted the other three of them from the back seat like a choral director:

My name is Ed Elric, I travel the world-I'd rather drink milk than to chase after girls  
It don't bother me, so don't give me no crap-Go find me a Fuhrer to straddle my lap!  
Bend over, Roy Mustang—Bend over, I pray-  
I'm done with my books and I'm ready to play  
I know that you've missed me—you're eager to please-  
And my small dick looks huge when you're down on your knees!

Pyotir was laughing as he stomped on the gas, blew the horn and tore down the street before Edward could catch up with the car.  
"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU ALL—COME BACK HERE, YOU BASTARDS!"  
#  
He had his own dressing gown in Room 5 but preferred the slightly smaller robe. He told himself it still smelled like Edward…maybe a little. Traces of his soap and shampoo lingered in the soft fabric and when he slipped his hands into the pockets he found one of Ed's countless 'to do' lists, which included interviews with teaching candidates, searching for a specific file, "FIRE RUBY"—this item underlined three times, and "Spenser's—stuff". It made Roy grin. They had stopped at Spenser's Emporium last time they had spent an evening in Room 5 to pick up a few items to spice up their evening, including a rather tasty Oil of Love flavored with vanilla and honey that warmed the skin when gently blown upon. The bottle was still n the cabinet. It gave Roy some intriguing ideas, although most of them would be best implemented when Ed was sprawled out naked on the velvet chaise, not on the other side of the Briggs mountains.

A gilded mirror captured him objectively, as Ed's eyes would not have done. A man of average height in his mid-thirties, face still vaguely boyish but the expression was a cool mask with guarded eyes. Eyes of a killer, Hughes told me. Our eyes were like that after Ishbal. The Ishballan poets must be right, saying that the eyes are the windows of the soul. We were slaughtering innocents and we could see it when we gazed at one another. Didn't Gracia see that when he came back from the war—or was he better at hiding it? He thought of Edward's rambunctious young son, giggling wildly and running naked down the hall, trailing soapsuds, with Sebastian, Pinako, and Jean Havoc in hot pursuit. I was never like that, was I? I don't remember laughing much as a child. Not after Father was killed. Nina, crawling up in his lap to steal a kiss, flinging her small arms around his neck and calling him my Wroy. Little Roy Mustang? Solicit affection? Ask to be cuddled? I was my father's Brave Little Soldier. When he looked at me he saw Mother's face and he always seemed a little bit sad when he smiled and patted me on the head.  
And Edward? Hadn't he been scared to bond with his own children, fearing that everything—everyone—he loved would somehow be torn tragically out of his heart?  
But Ed is changing. He leaned in closer to the reflection and the thought of his younger lover softened his gaze almost immediately. He's changing me too. Right now he was tired and lonely with the weight of the world on his shoulders….but now he had a family. He belonged to someone who was not going to sober up and head off in the morning to marry a mousy little woman from a flower shop. He wasn't going to dump him for some handsome blonde engineer who had trouble saying his 'wubble-yous'.  
The face in the mirror broke out into a spontaneous smile and the wary look vanished from those tired black eyes. The clock chimed softly down the hall and before he could reach for the phone it was already ringing.

"Took you long enough to answer, jerk."  
"I was going to call you, if you remember."  
There was a flustered, "yeah, well…" on the other end of the line. "What's the status with the kids?" He always asked that first and Roy was pleased that Edward had no trouble understanding his priorities  
"Settled in for the night. I ordered Hawkeye to stay with them tonight and Jean is my backup." Roy had no idea that Riza and Jean's low-key relationship began when they accidentally overheard Roy and Ed's antics in Room 5 on Ed's birthday, but as he was aware of her unrequited emotions towards him Roy now preferred to have someone else stand point when he was going to a telephone rendezvous with Edward.  
"Yeah…and I'm guessing you've got that she-devil from Wisteria Valley sneaking in the bushes—and I'm gonna put my boot right up your ass for that, Mustang," he growled back. "Goddamn it, Roy—"  
Mustang was not in the mood to squabble over Ruby. His voice dropped down about an octave into a rough purr that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.=I'd rather you put something else up there…if you're man enough."  
Suddenly the hair on the back of Ed's neck wasn't the only thing that was standing up. "Hey…you're better at that then I am—"  
'Mmmmm….I wouldn't say that…" A scarred hand slid inside the folds of a dressing gown and brushed lightly over a pale chest. "You're very good when you-  
Roy could almost hear him blush. "Not that, jackass….I mean…the..uhhh…ahh..y'know. Talking. Shit like that." Typical. Roy smothered a chuckle. He can do it but he can't talk about it. Right. I'm going to make him suffer tonight.  
"Oh, you're better than you think. As a matter of fact," he dropped is voice so low it sounded as if he had grown a third testicle, "I'll do anything you tell me to do." Ed's mouth went so dry it nearly glued itself to the roof of his mouth. He fumbled for his glass of brandy and downed a quick mouthful. It burned right down to his guts. "I've got my little box of toys—oh, and remember that oil of love we bought at Mr. Spenser's? I've got that, too. And I'm in Room 5, wearing nothing but your dressing gown. And," he played his trump card, "I'm at your mercy, Edward. What would you like me to do?"  
"Shut up, for starters," Ed grumbled. "Let me think…" Shit, this was harder than he thought. Edward was a man of action, and if Roy had said this to his face, he'd have grabbed that smirking son of a bitch by the collar and thrown him-"Down. Down on your knees. On the couch."  
On the other side of the phone Roy was triumphant. "Mmmmm….yes…tell me what you want me to do….do you want me to bathe you with my tongue? I can do that…you know how good I am at it. Or—"  
"Get the dildo." Ed's voice sounded harsh, as if he was trying to conceal how nervous he was. "And…the other thing. I don't know what you call it—"  
"—the Gate of Paradise…also known as a stroker. Have you tried it yet?"  
"N…no. I was saving it for—"  
"Tonight. Me too. So….you want me to get both the dildo and the stroker? Mmmm….is that what you want, Edward?"  
Pause. "Oh HELL yeah…." Roy heard him take a deep breath. "I don't know if I wanna fuck you or suck you-and I don't know if I want you to fuck me or suck me….so we're gonna do both. At the same time."  
Roy promptly bit his bottom lip so hard it bled. "Yes, SIR!"  
In Drachma, Ed stared at the meaty rubber phallus he had attached to the sturdy headboard of his bed with the help of its suction cup base. Butter might ruin it so he used a dollop of the gooey stuff in the little jar that came with his toy box. He stroked the balm over the toy's length and took another deep breath. "Spread your legs, I wanna taste you." He knelt on the bed, knees wide apart. "Give me some tongue, bastard."  
The stroker's orifice was a tight little furl that could not be mistaken for anything else. Roy drizzled some oil of love over it and began licking at it tenderly, imagining Edward on his knees before him, shivering with each flick and thrust. "Suck it," he whispered enticingly. "Suck on it and get me ready for you…"  
Eyes closed, Edward pushed his tongue into what he imagined was Roy. On his knees, and he's shaking…drives him crazy when I do this…especially when I work my way down to his balls and back up again…and again…ohhh godddd….and…"Get your fingers inside me, damn it…don't make me wait…been too long…"  
Roy reached under the robe and panted hard as two oiled fingers circled and strummed and stroked and thrust, sharp and fast. He sucked hard on his bleeding lip and on the other end of the phone heard an answering gasp. "Want to make it three?" he suggested. The Edward he could see behind his closed eyes was circling his hips in that way that always was such a visual turn-on. Once they got going, it was as if Ed wanted to screw himself down onto whatever Roy offered him—tongue, fingers or cock. And no wonder—once you felt the brain-melting jolt of pleasure of having one's sweet spot probed and caressed by one's lover, you wanted it again…and again…and again…  
"Get the dildo." Roy obeyed. He'd ridden it before on nights when his body felt so empty for his lover. Chen and Spenser had estimated pretty well, Chen having examined Edward as a physician. It wasn't the flushed, tawny-rose color and it lacked that succulent sheath of soft flesh that Roy loved to suckle and fondle with his tongue. It didn't taste all that good and it was cool to the touch, not warm and pulsing with every beat of his lover's heart—but it would do. A quick clap of his hands and the loveseat shifted and changed and a part of the wooden frame became a convenient surface to attach the phallus.  
Ed squirmed and shifted his hips. If he could still do transmutations this would be a hell of a lot easier and the bed's headboard would have reshaped itself to his whim. Fortunately the dildo was approximately the right length and that mean he'd still be able to-  
"Ahhhhhh….yeahhhh…Edward…." A slow, steady pressure and the cool, firm rubber cockhead jolted past those sensitive rings of muscle that were relaxed and ready for surrender.  
Hearing that groan on the other end of the receiver made Edward drop the stroker and grab his own neglected dick…then he remembered: that's what the stroker is for, moron! He scrambled for the lubricant, smeared it awkwardly over his length and pressed against it. Eyes screwed shut, Roy was spread out before him, holding his knees up to his shoulders, his belly streaked with glistening trails of salty moisture that Ed would lean down and lick off before pressing in. He nestled the head of his cock under the silken heaviness of Roy's sac and began to slowly rub his crown against the real 'gate of paradise'. It was no struggle to get inside—Roy was pushing back and urging him on, relaxed and purring at him and whispering hot words of encouragement like yes and now and fuck, YES! as Ed breached him.  
"Ohhh…fuck…yesssss!" The sheath was lined with hundreds of fleshy ticklers and nodules and ridges and when Roy bucked up into the stroker Ed was riding him, crouched above like a madman, hair clinging to his sweaty shoulders as his lean hips circled and slammed down onto Roy, cock flushed and dripping and jerking enticingly over Roy's belly. In his imagination he caught it between his hands and began an elaborate two handed stroke that he'd read about in that book of forbidden Ishballan erotica. He could smell the machine oil and musk and sweat and he stuttered out his lover's name. "Is it good, Ed….you're so deep…take it hard…hard as you want…break me down…take me to pieces…make me whatever you want…"  
Something was breaking down, something intangible but Edward knew it just the same. "You've been holding back, all this time," he whispered urgently. "From me….from Hughes…from everybody, goddamn it…and I am gonna tear…those fucking…walls…down….I'm gonna do it with my cock in your ass…I'm gonna do it…with your dick in my throat…I'm gonna make you come…and come…and fucking…come…so….hard…..you can't hide anything else."  
The blood from his bitten lip was hot and salty in his mouth and his head flung back. Hughes…it was never…I never knew it could….let me go…let me go…  
The ghost that had inhabited the most secret places of his heart—the ghost he could never bear to let go of-was gone. In that space Edward Elric rushed in and laid claim to Roy's past as firmly and confidently has he had to Roy's present and future. The voice in his ear told Roy he loved him, loved him so much, damn it….and without the qualifying you bastard. Then he rocked down hard on the toy inside him, squeezed tight and thrust deep into the toy in his fist, sobbed out his lover's name and burst.  
Edward's face was wet. Not all of it was sweat. He flashed on the memory of Roy's illness, the pain of hearing his lover begging for another man as he lay close to death.  
No more. If there had been any doubt about his decision to be with Roy he would have pinned Pyotir against the riverbank and ridden him raw. That he had been tempted—even for a moment—made him furious with himself. I chose Roy. Now he's chosen me. That's all that matters. "Mine," he snarled as the soft tip of the toy brushed his sweet spot one last time. "You hear me, goddamn it?" The maddening tiny fingers, like a thousand little tongues, flicked at his length and inside his slit and with a sharp wail of pleasure he filled it, pulsing again and again until dripped down his shaft as his body clenched the dildo, which would serve…yes, it would serve well enough to content him…until he could hold his lover in the dark again.  
After a long silence, Roy's voice was low and unexpectedly tender in his ear.  
"If anyone asks you how the perfect satisfaction of all our sexual wanting will look, lift your face and say, 'Like this.'"  
Edward grinned in the dark and wiped the sweat and tears off his face. "Yeah. 'Like this…'"  
…TO BE CONTINUED….


	32. COLLATERAL DAMAGE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : “Definition: Collateral Damage: the incidental destruction of civilian property and civilian casualties.” Madame Christmas discovers a bullet ridden corpse in the alley and enlists a gang of street kids to try to find out what’s going on—but the Old Guard has made its move. And as Ed prepares for his historic flight, someone greatly loved by Edward and Roy has become an innocent pawn in a game of political assassination.

COLLATERAL DAMAGE  
By The Binary Alchemist

 

"Hey, there's a dead guy in the alley."

He'd been there awhile. Long enough for the ants to find him. Long enough for a gang of city kids roaming around on the last week before school began to stumble upon him while looking for opportunities for petty crimes and misdemeanors . One of them poked it with a stick. "Some old drunk, betcha."  
"Yeah."  
One kid suggested they call the city guards. "Nahh," the biggest of them shook his head. "They'll think we did it."  
"We could get a reward, maybe."  
"Nah, just leave 'im. Somebody'll find him, sooner or later."  
"Or smell him. Yeah. Let's go!" The biggest of the boys gave the old man a kick. The littlest went through his pockets. There were a handful of sens, a cigar cutter and a scribbled note that read, "pick up beer xtra at Christmas's—pd last week". "Gimme that!" the biggest boy demanded. Scanning the paper, he grinned and stuck it in his pocket. "He was gonna get booze from that cow on Main Street."  
The middle sized one made a face. "Ewww…that fat old witch? She gotta wart."  
The older boy gave him a sharp shove. "And she's got beer. We can get us some and sell it. We go down there when she opens up and show her the paper and there's guys who'll buy it off us."  
"Sweet!"  
#  
"Honey, I got a call from the Central Times. They want to talk to me a little bit about Ed this morning, so we're going to be a little late going to the Palace."

Elycia frowned. She had been so excited about the special breakfast Chef Ramsay was going to make for them all, and going into the grand parlor to listen with Uncle Roy and Miss Riza and Jean and Granny Pinako and everybody. Afterwards they would all go out to lunch in the square at Il Gattina's, and there would be music in the park and games and candy floss and lemonade and…and…it was the last grand week of glorious summer before school began and the Elrics went back to Dublith. She didn't want to miss even one tiny minute of the fun.  
Seeing her daughter's gloomy expression, Gracia gave her a hug. "The good part is that I'm meeting Mr. Foster at Il Gattina's, so we'll grab a quick breakfast—you can have anything you like, sweetheart—and then we'll have Mr. Sebastian send the car to pick us up, just like Uncle Roy told us to do. Will that be okay?"  
"Can I have a Kookie Kat for breakfast?"  
"Anything you want, sweetie. Anything you want…."  
#  
"Fwy…in…the…skyyyy…Fwy, Ed, fwy…"

Pinako nodded. Hawkeye smiled gently at the little girl as she labored over each word. 'We…we say…hi…as..you..fwy by!"  
"Very good," Hawkeye praised her. "You read well. Your dad will be proud of you." She pointed to the untouched plate of kitty-shaped pancakes, sausage and fresh fruit Ramsay had placed before the child. "Don't let your breakfast get cold."  
The child nodded and obediently laid her book aside. She thoughtfully chewed a dainty bite of pancake, meticulously licking the butter off the tines of her fork. "Where 'lycia?"  
"She's coming, don't worry. She and Miss Gracia will be here before we hear your dad, and Uncle Roy will be here too."  
"Where my Wroy?"  
"I told you," Pinako reminded the child. "He's with Nana Chris. He'll be here. Don't be so impatient."  
Nina shrugged.'kay!" and popped another raspberry in her mouth.  
#  
Damn, but he didn't want to wake the Chief. Not after everything he'd overheard last night. Wash my country boy's ears out with soap after all that…stuff…shit! Havoc couldn't have just sat out in the restaurant guarding the door to Room 5. Instead, he went to the Rotgut Room, the little smuggler's hole between Room 5 and Room 6—really, just big enough for a chair, a complimentary beer and sandwich from Old Miss Chris, a piss pot and an ashtray.  
And a box of tissues, the sight of which made him blush to the tips of his ears. Miss Chris must have known it was hard for even a straight arrow man to listen to Roy and Ed slurping and cussing and breaking furniture and that goddamned slap-slap-slap that could make his junk hard even if he had an overwhelming preference for pussy. Better to just rub one off, think about big titties with cherry nipples, and wipe up and forget it.  
He'd heard a loud, luxuriant yawn, a toilet flush, and the shower had run for precisely five minutes. There was a sizzle of alchemy—must have been cleaning spunk off the sofa—and then a deep voice calling, "Havoc…I know you're listening…"  
He stubbed out his cigarette and unlocked the door. "Mornin' Chief! You ready to go. The Colonel called and said Gracia and Elycia had to do some press this morning and since your kids were hungry they started without you."  
"That's fine, Havoc." Roy adjusted his collar, admiring his reflection in the mirror. He fluffed up his damp hair, nodded with satisfaction and consulted his watch. "Ask my aunt for a couple of coffees to go."  
"Will do."

As the Chief laced on his shoes and placed a few quick phone calls from Room 5, Havoc stuck his head in the restaurant, which was swarming with cleaners and waiters rushing in and out with boxes of fresh cut meat and local produce. Luka, one of the busboys, recognized him and approached with a blue box with gold kitty paws on it. "Hey! You wanna coupled of apple turnovers? Got some for the gang. There's plenty."  
"Can I get a couple coffees for the Chief?" Havoc snagged two pastries with thanks and waited as Luka found him a bag to carry them and poured out two paper cups of newly brewed coffee. "You guys are settin' up kind of early, aren't you?"  
Luka grinned. "We're opening for lunch today, like everybody else. And we've got a special on draft pitchers and Drachman Okhotnick shooters."  
"Good deal. Where's Herself?"  
Luka shook his head. "Ah, she's got some damn kids out in the alley tryin' to say they were sent to pick up a couple cases of beer."  
"Yeah, like that was ever gonna happen."

A few minutes later Havoc and Roy were pacing up the dirt-packed tunnel that led from under the Rotgut Room to The Father's tunnels. Normally Roy would take the tunnels straight from the Palace to Madam Christmas' back room, but since they also needed to make a few stops this morning they parked the car in its usual hiding place.

A left turn after half a block and up a flight of stairs in an old warehouse and they were in another side alley where Havoc had parked his car. He passed a coffee with light cream and sugar and a hot pastry to the man in the back seat. "Should be some tissues back there if you need a napkin."  
The paper cup was steaming and the heat made the scars on his palms ache. Roy insulated it with more of the tissue to protect himself. "Let's go."  
#  
Il Gattina's was so packed Gracia couldn't image how Mr. Foster would be able to hear her above the din. Still, it was always good to get press coverage for her show and her shop, and she'd brought along some pictures she had taken of Ed in his early teens with her husband as well as the recipe for Ed's favorite apple pie. She searched in vain for a table until old Mr. Rosemario saw her and waved to her. "Madame! Over here!" He pointed to a tiny two-seater table near the entrance to the kitchen. Thankfully, she caught her daughter's hand and guided her through the crush, smiling gratefully as the beaming old man pulled their chairs out for them.  
Elycia asked politely for a Kookie Kat and some lemonade, and Gracia ordered a cup of tea and a blueberry crumbcake. "Oh look—there's Mr. Foster now. Honey, can you-Mr, Rosemario? Excuse me? Could my daughter sit in the back with Mr. Faust or the girls? I have to talk to Mr. Foster and we need to go outside where it's not so noisy." Since Faust was seeing Pinako the grey headed old charmer didn't mind bringing Maes and Nina and Elycia to the little break room in the back where the bakehouse boys and the shop girls would have their tea. There was always somebody back there and since they were such regular customers they were always welcome. It was also a quiet place to bring Maes to clean him up after upsetting his ice cream or smearing frosting all over his head.  
Rosemario waved away Gracia's concerns and apologies. "Always a pleasure, Madame! And Miss Elycia—Rosemario has made some fresh lemonade from Old Faust's own recipe—I bring it to you. We are dipping extra chocolates in the break room since we have to do so many, and you can watch and see how the girls do it. Would you like that?"  
Elycia nodded enthusiastically and Rosemario shooed Gracia away. "Go, you talk to the paper. We'll take care of your daughter. Keep her safe from the crowd."

The breakroom was fragrant with chocolate and several trays smelled tempting, but Elycia was told not to spoil her breakfast, even if it was going to be as sugar-laden a breakfast as she had eaten in her young life. "The girls be back in a few minutes when the chocolate, she is ready for dipping, yes? So here is your lemonade. I bring your Kookie Kat—I ice it for you special. What color kitty you want?"  
"Orange with a pink nose!"  
"You got it, little lady. Here, drink up!"  
It was cold and delicious and very, very lemon-y and Rosemario refilled her glass. "Old Faust, he'd be happy to know you like it so much. I tell him when he gets back. He's just picking up some supplies. He be back shortly."  
#  
Little pishers. Peh! They think I was born yesterday?   
She dug into her handbag and a shiny ten-cens coin winked between her plump fingers. The kid with the note had eyes that threatened to pop out of their sockets and bounce around her tiny high heels. Walking the line of unwashed urchins who offered her the note, she flipped it up and down, under their greedy little noses. "Y'know, boys…you think you can come in here and bullshit me into givin' beer to a bunch of underage snot-nosed little rat bastards like you…but what you really want is cash, right?" She held out the coin, tossed it in the air and snatched it away again. "I don't give my coin for nothin'. No beer, boys…but I might pay for information." She nodded at the folded piece of foolscap the oldest boy had nervously offered her. "I gotta pocket full of these coins—I believe there might be enough for everybody. Maybe. Depends what kind of answers you give me."  
#  
"Easy, Havoc!" Roy growled from the back seat after a pothole on a side street had jostled the car and sloshed the Fuhrer's coffee. "You've spoken to the Colonel?"  
Havoc nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "We got so many snipers in the trees and on the roof that anybody going after the kids is gonna be plugged so full of holes you can see daylight through 'em. Ruby's got Ed's back—says she's got plenty of backup from the local constabulary and even Al's ready to beat some ass if anybody fucks with the Amestris. And you know I've got your back—not that you need me to protect you, hehehe! I might need you to save my sorry ass, though."  
You trust me—even now, after I failed you when Lust attacked. All that pain, the struggle to get the use of your legs back, even now…you can forgive me…"I've got your back, Havoc. Count on it."  
#  
Maes was running around Roy's study with his little paper airship model, making loud little-boy-flying noises while Nina perched on Riza's lap, chanting her alphabet letters in a sing-song lisp and rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the old song. Hawkeye glanced over her head at Pinako. "Were Ed and Al this precocious?"  
The old woman sighed.'Fraid so. By the time Ed was five he could read like an adult and seemed to understand every word. Both boys were exceptional. Hohenheim….thought I knew him, but what he really was, in the end, none of us will ever know for sure. I wouldn't say he was all human-mebbe changed human, and it changed his boys and his grandchildren. Winry was bright—so was her daddy Urey. But there's bright and there's brilliant—and these two take after their dad, no doubt about it."  
Sebastian knocked softly then peeked around the edge of the door discreetly. "His Excellency is on his way, and Mrs. Hughes and her daughter will be here shortly."  
Fifteen minutes later, the door banged open. "Wroy?" Nina asked hopefully.  
There was a raspy cough. "Sorry to disappoint you, kiddo." An old woman with dyed hair was standing in the doorway with a gun in her hand. "Let's go."  
#  
It was taking forever, Mommy talking with Mr. Foster. The break room was warm and smelled comfortably of chocolate and baking. The last of her Kookie Kat crumbs were gone, as were the chocolates Rosemario had slipped to her, and she'd finished three glasses of lemonade. After a trip to the little girl's room, she began yawning. One of the bakery girls moved two comfy chairs together and Elycia stretched out, a rolled up apron under her head. Sophie, one of the bakery girls, smiled at her, smoothed back the child's soft hair and then stepped outside. "She's napping, bless her heart."  
Rosemario smiled warmly and patted the pretty young woman on her shoulder. "Is all right. I keep her safe until Faust gets back."  
#  
Nina began to whimper. The old woman shot Hawkeye an angry look. "Keep her quiet." The pistol in her hand was cocked and loaded and for once even Riza Hawkeye didn't dare argue. Maes, on the other hand, blinked up at the old woman in curiosity. "You got a dirty chin." He nodded and pointed at the wart.  
"I gotta dirty soul, kid, but once in a while I do a good thing just to keep in practice. The secret hidey-hole is right up ahead."  
"Where we goin'?"  
Chris Mustang grinned around her cigarette. "To Uncle Roy's special playhouse."  
#  
Gracia and Foster had walked several blocks and she hadn't realized how long they had been talking until the clock in the square struck ten. "Oh, my goodness! Look at the time! I've got to get back to Elycia. We're having morning tea with the President and listening to Ed's broadcast. She rose and gathered her purse. "Is there anything else you need for the article, Mr. Foster?"  
The reporter, who looked sweatier than normal, dug into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed document. "Y-yes," he stammered slightly. "The Times was wondering if you would like to comment on this before we run it in the paper tomorrow morning."  
It was a military report, dating back seventeen years and signed "J. Zolf Kimblee", describing in meticulous detail of an event on the evening of May 3rd, It stated that during the hours after curfew Cadet Roy Mustang and Cadet Maes Hughes were discovered in the kitchen of the Academy's underclass barracks. Kimblee provided a highly detailed account of Maes Hughes performing acts of sodomy and oral copulation upon his classmate who was a willing participant, and that this Kimblee recommended the strongest possible disciplinary measures be meted out for the offense.  
Gracia crumpled it in her fingers and began to run…  
#  
"What the fuck do you want?" Ed had wisely emptied his bladder before leaving for the first flight, He'd also unburdened his bowels. This could scare the shit out of me—literally. Pyotir, Al and the others were waiting impatiently to hike up to the meadow where Amestris was waiting. The last thing he expected when he stepped out of the privy was to walk smack into Ruby.  
"Sebastian's on the line. Sounds like you better talk to him."  
Ed ran past her, pounded up the steps and snatched the phone off the wall. "What?"  
The voice on the other end of the line was as cool and unflappable as ever. "We've moved the children. As a precaution-oh, Dr. Pinako? I have him on the line for you."  
Ed's insides began to churn. "Granny? What the hell is-"  
"—there's been a shooting, Ed. Roy and the kids are fine, but Chris wasn't going to take any chances. She stormed in here with a gun in her hand and she and Hawkeye have taken Maes and Nina."  
His heart hammered in his chest but he sighed in relief. "Did she say where?"  
"All she said was that Roy knows how to clean upholstery…"  
#  
By the time the boys led Chris Mustang to the dead man in the alley someone had stolen his shoes. His bowels and bladder had released themselves in death and a mangy stray was now sniffing at the corpse. Chris mustang snatched up an old tin can and heaved it at the cur to chase it off. "You say you got the note out of his pocket, kid?" The smallest child nodded. "Looting the dead, huh? Your mama know you do that?"  
The child stared at the ground. "My mama's a hoor."  
She snorted with laughter. "That doesn't mean shit, boy. Never know how high a whore's boy can rise in this world." She rolled the dead man over with her foot. "Damn." She rolled him back, face down among the litter.   
Each of the boys walked out of that alley with silver in his pocket, as promised. "You wanna be my eyes and ears, there's more where that came for. You rats wanna work for me?" They nodded, to a man. "Alright. I don't wanna know your names. I don't wanna know crap. We do this my way." She pointed at the oldest boy. "You. Beanpole. You go down to Radio Capital—I'll give you a note. Tell 'em it's for Mrs. Hughes from her Aunt Chris. Tell her to call me. You with the hat—Ginger. Ginger, get your ass to the address I'm gonna give you. Beat on the door and if a lady answers or a little girl, it's Mrs. Hughes or her kid. Tell 'em Aunt Chris says stay home and is gonna call." Another boy was singled out as he was wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Okay-Beak. Get to Il Gattina and check around. You up to the counter and you ask for Sophie—she's working this morning. Tell her to call Mrs. Christmas about a special order. And don't tell her about this body. I'll do that." Lastly, her sharp eyes moved to the youngest boy, the little looter, the whore's son who had stolen the dead man's coins and raided his pockets. "Pockets. I got something only you can do, kid…I'm counting on you. You come with me."

"This is my friend Pockets," Chris told the kids as she lead a scrawny, filthy boy into Room 5. "He works for me. Now, Pockets—listen up good if you ever want another cen in your pocket ever again. This is The Colonel—and these are Maes and Nina. These kids are …family." It wasn't quite the right word but it would do. "See, I'd be really upset if something happened to my family. So what I want you to do is keep your eyes out on the street. I'm gonna show you where to sit—and it's gonna be kinda dark, but if you're brave enough to pick a dead man's pockets you're brave enough to sit up on a fire escape and not piss yourself. I'm gonna give you this old fire gong, and you're gonna sit there and just watch—and if you see these kids go in that alley with anybody other than me or The Colonel, you're gonna beat that damn thing until your arm falls off, okay? And if they disappear, you run back in the restaurant and you have someone come get me." A twenty-cens bill crackled between her fingers. "You do this right, Pockets, and you get the stuff that folds. Understand?"  
Pockets glanced at the two younger kids and the lady in uniform who nodded at him. "Yeah."  
"Good. Luka'll make you a sandwich and get you a bottle of pop. Now get going."  
#  
Havoc had just pulled into the back entrance of the Palace when Pinako Rockbell rushed out to meet him. "Roy, there's trouble," she told him urgently. "Chris has got the kids. They found old Faust in the alley. Shot through the head. He—"  
Roy cut her off. "The old man from Il Gattina's?"  
Havoc leaned over the back seat. "Hey, that's where Mrs. Hughes was going to talk to that newspaper guy One look at his boss' face and he cranked the engine."  
"Granny, stay here," Roy ordered "You and Sebastian hold the fort,"  
"But—"  
"Let's go, Havoc!"  
#  
She felt awful.  
Her tummy gurgled again and she vomited miserably, spattering her pretty summer dress. The room around her seemed to be spinning and spinning and it hurt to look at anything for long, but her vision was not so blurred that she didn't recognize the old man who had joked with her, made her a pretty Kookie Kat with orange frosting and a pink nose. A man who'd mixed old man Faust's Limoncello with fresh squeezed lemonade, making her sleepy and sick and dizzy before carrying her out of the break room, ostensibly upstairs to Faust's now empty flat to sleep until her mother came. Only Mommy hadn't come and she couldn't get out of her chair because her arms and legs didn't want to move for her and the ropes around her were so tight.  
"Old man Rosemario" wiped her face and replaced her gag. "Do you want to know how to take a man down, Miss Hughes? You shoot a small target. That's how we killed your daddy. Roy Mustang's heart is a small target. So is his brain."  
General Edison clicked back the hammer of the pistol he had just loaded and playfully pointed it at Elycia Hughes.  
"And so is his lover's daughter…"  
….TO BE CONTINUED…


	33. A LIFE FOR A LIFE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For years, Roy was tormented over the death of his former lover, Maes Hughes. Only the combined influence of Scar, Edward and Hawkeye could keep him from killing Envy and, perhaps, losing his soul. Now a rogue ex-general from the Bradley regime has taken Elycia Hughes as a hostage in a last desperate bid for revenge against Mustang….and this time, no one is there to hold back Roy’s anger…

"A LIFE FOR A LIFE"  
By The Binary Alchemist

Edward Elric frowned a little as he saw how huge the throng was waiting on the grassy test field that alchemy had flattened out to make a level surface for take off and landing. "Those farmers are gonna be pissed."  
Lobachevsky slapped him on the back. "Edward, the Tsar and Tsarina are here. Right now, this minute, the whole world is watching Drachma. Today we are not being seen as barbarians but men and women of science and progress. We have you and your team to thank. This day can only be glorious for us all, da?"  
Maxim waved a clipboard and grinned. "Winds are light and steady. Not a cloud in the sky—"  
"-the Tsarina is so excited. I've made sure the Court has the best seats in the field Alexi shouted over the ruckus.  
"-Edward-Tovarich! Guess who's selling concessions in the crowd?" Pyotir was laughing and pointing at an elegantly dressed Pio Bacalla and his new bride Nataly, moving among the crowd with gaily painted pushcarts, hawking cold drinks, sausage rolls and fresh baked pastries, along with candy floss, Amestrian toffee apples and popped corn.  
"Hey, Peehole!" Ed taunted good naturedly. "I get a free beer and a sausage roll if I don't crash, right?"  
The Aerugoan feigned deep offense. "Free? Free? Think of all the endless meals—the culinary artistry I placed on the table before you and you gobbled it up without even tasting it, like a hog at a trough. I'll give you a ten percent discount if you buy my picnic special—a beer, a sausage roll and a large popped corn-"  
"I'll tell you what you can do with your damned sausage roll," Ed shot back. "You can shove it up your-"  
"ED! We're on the air. You want this on the radio?" Al fretted.  
Ed chuckled and shrugged. "Hey, my kid went on Radio Capital and announced that his sister farted. Just keeping up the family tradition."  
Edward, Alphonse, Lobachevsky and their team approached the Tsar and Tsarina and bowed respectfully. Tsarina Ekaterina rose and kissed Edward on both cheeks. "My brave boy," she whispered in his ear. "Your mother would be proud of you today. I kiss you for her—a Matz's kiss for luck. Be safe."  
His eyes stung and he found himself blinking back against a wave of homesickness, and the longing for the tender smile his children would never see. "Th-thank you, Ma'am." He bowed again and Alphonse followed him out to the Amestris in the middle of the flying field. His motorbike was parked alongside the flying machine, the logic being that he would follow Ed as far and as fast as he could with Dr. Chen riding behind him. In the event of a crash, Dr. Chen could use his medical alchemy to stabilize any injuries. Ed wasn't all that keen about that but agreed in the end. Chen was already waiting, his traditional robes replaced with Western clothing less likely to get caught in the spokes. Judging from the broad smile on his face he'd managed a few private words with Nataly, who seemed delighted to have both an ambitious husband and an exotic lover who had come to a peaceful agreement to insure the best for her unborn child.  
The team, along with Nataly, Ruby, Bacalla and Lobachevsky gathered around Edward. In unison, they bumped their firsts together. "Save the hoo-rah and bullshit when it's over," Ed told his friends. "Let's get this crate in the air."  
#  
He didn't know whether to run, shit or go blind. Get the artsy-craftsy bitch out of the way. Those were his orders and he'd gotten her four blocks from Il Gattina's and talked with her for an hour—long enough for the alcoholic Limonchello mixed in the kid's lemonade to take effect so 'Rosemario' could get her out of the store and out of hearing range. "You—you're not gonna shoot her…are you?" he'd asked the old general.  
"Would you like to know how many little boys died to make Pride? To make Wrath? You need a strong stomach, son, if you're going to be a part of the Old Guard. Or," Edison's eyes narrowed, "are you weak, boy? Because if you don't have the balls to help carry this out, you're wasting my time. And people who waste my time he grinned slowly, can be very useful in the lab."  
Edison gave him a gun. "You can shoot the child or shoot the old man. Make your bones, Foster. Which one will it be? You can be one of us…or one of them."  
So he'd contacted old Faust and invited him into an alleyway, on grounds of warning him about a rumor he'd heard about his sandwich maker being a former war criminal. The last thing out of the old man's mouth before the bullet tore through his forehead was I'm a better judge of character. Do you think I'd put my customers in danger?  
He'd vomited five times before meeting with Gracia Hughes, luring her away. Small targets, Edison told him. We'll never get to the Elric brats. They've got security tight as a toad's ass. They'd never suspect we'd go for his other lover's child. Nobody will, and her mother is such a whore for media attention we can distract her and take the kid.  
"Are you going to kill her? Foster asked him over and over.  
General Edison's smile made him sick at his stomach. "Depends…are you familiar with Equivalent Exchange?"  
#  
The noise in Il Gattina had escalated to a roar. Children shouting, men calling for their orders, lovely bakery girls darting in and out of the crowd like butterflies, and the radio was already on, playing what sounded like Drachman band music, over which she could hear Donnel Samuelson reading out news copy about the Elric Brothers. It made her ears ring and when she shouted for help nobody noticed her. Who could be concerned with one sobbing, frightened woman when the whole city was jubilant?  
Frantic, she shoved her way to the counter where Sophie was waiting on a gaggle of country boys on holiday in Central, buying candy for their mothers and eating her up with their eyes. "Sophie? Where is Elycia?"  
The young lady dimpled prettily. "She got tired so she's taking a nap in the back. Mr. Rosemario is watching her."  
"I need to take her home. Now."  
Sophia gestured towards the swinging doors that led to the back of the bakery. "Right in here and to your right, Miss Gracia. I'll be up here if you need me."  
In the middle of the empty break room table was a packet with her name on it. Whispering a frantic prayer to her late husband, Gracia opened it.  
There was a light brown pigtail in the envelope, wrapped around a sprig of fresh rosemary and tied with the pale blue ribbon that Elycia had worn in her hair. There was also a card with a phone number and the words "Rosemary for remembrance. Don't do anything stupid."  
#  
There was a ten-cens coin in his pocket, more money than he'd ever hoped to own in his short life. The old woman could call him Beak—hell, she could call him Dogshit Davy if she wanted to. That coin would help his dad, and Davy was glad to have it.  
He had staked out the crowd in Il Gattina, close to the door, and when the Hughes lady from the radio show ran past him, he wiggled and shoved through the sea of bodies to follow where she went. When he reached the candy counter he waved and shouted to get Sophie's attention. It was useless. She don't wanna see me. I'm dirty and I ain't got coin for candy, she thinks. He jammed two fingers in his mouth and let rip with a whistle that cut through the clamor like a hot knife through butter. Sophie blinked and stared at him. "Call Madame Christmas." He held up the coin. "She give me this to tell you. An' I gotta talk to that lady that went back there."  
Her perfect, pouty lips became an 'o' of surprise, but the coin convinced her. She pointed towards the double doors. "Come straight out," she added, not unkindly, inwardly cringing at the thought of his grimy fingerprints all over the freshly dipped chocolates.  
Beak found the Hughes lady alone in a room full of chairs pushed around a table smeared with chocolate. Her face looked as bled-out as the dead guy in the alley. She looked like she was gonna fall over. "You Miz Hughes?"  
The woman jerked around, wild eye'ed. "My daughter? Have you seen my daughter?" she moaned. "She's gone." She lunged at him, clawing at his shoulders. "Have you seen my daughter?"  
Beak backed away from her, frightened. "I—Miss Christmas sent me to find you. Said you need to call her. We…She….found this dead guy in the alley, see? An"  
In the delivery area someone was screaming. "NO! Oh….no…no….Grandpa…..noooooooo!" Pretty Sophie had turned her face to the wall, her dainty shoulders heaving, the bright bow on her apron quivering like real butterfly wings.  
"C'mon!" Beak grabbed at Gracia's arm and yanked but the woman seemed frozen in place. "C'mon! She was callin' Miss Christmas. You need to talk to her!"  
He couldn't budge her. She stood there, dazed, as if someone had bludgeoned her. In her sweaty palm was clutched a lock of fine brown hair, a crumpled ribbon and the phone number of the person who held her whole life in the balance. She turned away from the boy and began to dial….  
#  
"More coffee, Doctor?"  
"Thanks, Mr. Garfiel. By the way," Pitt admired the platter of fresh baked pastries he was offered, hot and fragrant from the oven, "these look delicious. You craft automail…you sew…and you're a master in the kitchen too!"  
"Well," the craftsman winked, "Father always said I was a master-baker…even when I was young." He waited for a reaction. The young country doctor didn't get the punch line. Garfiel sighed inwardly. Well, Ed is a bit of a thickie too, although I bet Alphonse would have blushed as red as his brother's old coat. "Where's my darling girl? Goodness, she's going to miss the broadcast."  
"Right behind you," Winry chirped, slipping around her mentor to join them at the table. She reached across the table and impulsively squeezed Pitt's hand. "This is so exciting!" she gushed. "This will be the first time a real, honest machine actually flies! Ed gave Granny and me copies of the design that Pyotir completed…it's awesome! And Pyotir has agreed to meet us when they come back to Central. He says he wants my input about perfecting it!"  
At the word input Pitt felt a little sick at his stomach and as if on cue Garfiel clapped his hands. "Lovely! He can stay with us—and I promise to be good. I hear Pyotir's got a big bad sailor boy somewhere out there, and I don't want to get thirty lashes…at least, not without a few drinks and dinner first!"  
Pitt immediately relaxed. Risking it, he let his fingers slide down and slip through Winry's. "You really are amazing," he told her softly.  
For a moment, she met his eyes and blushed. Then she dumped her coffee all over herself. She stuttered and mumbled and dashed up the stairs to change. Garfiel touched his coffee cup to Pitt's in salute and the young doctor grinned back at him.  
There was a loud crackle of static from the radio and Garfiel reached over to adjust the tuning. "….and we're about five minutes away from the historic take off, brought to you for the first time ever in an international broadcast in cooperation with our broadcast comrades in Drachma at…uhhh…let me spell this…Р-у-с-с-к-о-е P-а-something-something-о…ah…okay, it translates as Radio Drachma, thanks to a grant from the Collegium of Alexandria in Central and Stoltovgrad.  
On the ground in Drachma providing translation is Vladimir Nijinski-Vlad, how is the crowd on the field this morning? Do we have a good turn out supporting this historic mission?"  
"Da, Comrade Samuelson! It is beautiful day. The wisability is werry good, and spirits are werry, werry high. Comrade Elric has just taken his seat aboard the Amestris, and the ground crew is preparing to start the propellers at his orders. The pre-flight check should be completed momentarily and then—"  
Donnel Samuelson cut in. "Sorry to interrupt, Vladimir, but we have breaking news in Central—we'll join you shortly. Ladies and Gentlemen, we are given to understand that there is a hostage crisis here in Central. A group identifying itself as The Old Guard has claimed credit for the killing of one citizen and the abduction of a young girl—Elycia Hughes, daughter of our own Gracia Hughes, hostess of our craft segment on Noonday Amestris. Gracia is here in our studios. She has been requested to read a statement from The Old Guard-"  
#  
"…with a message for Fuhrer President Mustang."  
In the Palace of the Sun King in Aerugo, Alex Louis Armstrong's jaw dropped beneath his busy mustache. Prince Claudio, on the other hand, did not look even remotely surprised. "I was wondering when they'd make their move," he observed, paying no attention to the liveried servant who filled his cup with blackish, syrupy coffee and plopped a dollop of cream on top.  
Alex stared at his host. "You mean you expected this?" he spluttered.  
"Mmm…yes. As did Mustang. Come now, Signor Armstrong, you cannot tell me you did not see this coming? That surely some of Mustang's enemies escaped or evaded capture the day of the eclipse? I understand at least one major conspirator, General Edison, was captured and then escaped. It did not take one man—or what might have passed for a man—to pull your little country down. Not by himself…or itself. That thing your army fought—that blond man. We have myths about creatures like that in our folk tales. We called them by many names but Father was never one of them. Madmen who sought godhood through alchemy and did not care whom they used or killed to get it. I am close to the truth, no?"  
Close enough, Alex remembered bitterly. Although that…thing…was never a man. "Let me guess," his voice was low and very cautious. "You had intelligence on the ground?"  
"I had intelligence in your ranks. I'd heard the stories from the inside. Whatever your little tin gods and madmen were plotting in Amestris—I did not want it crossing my borders. My informants saw what appeared to be a host of undead, one-eyed creatures shambling around, eating the flesh of their own creators. They were there at Central Command when the Xingian prince fought Bradley—who was supposed to be dead. They saw the battle between Signor Hohenheim and the blond titan who nearly destroyed you all. The moment the battle was done they escaped your capital and returned to me. One of them narrowly escaped being eaten by your undead monstrosities. He was so traumatized by what he witnessed he's been simple-minded ever since…which is why I couldn't bring myself to have him whipped for being such an incompetent house servant. Wasn't that long ago that he was a very brave soldier in my service."  
"Baldrick?"  
The Prince of the Dawn sipped brew and nodded. "Do treat him gently. He's been through a great deal."  
#  
"HEY! ASSHOLE!"  
Ed glanced over his shoulder. Ruby was running towards the Amestris. "What the fuck do you want?"  
She shoved an envelope into his hand. "From Himself. Don't die, okay? It would really piss him off."  
There was something in her face that clipped short any sarcasm he would have thrown at her under normal circumstances. "Do my damndest."  
He tore the paper open. Inside was a gold signet ring on a leather thong. It bore an almost perfectly etched variation of Roy's salamander array. The noted read:  
I made this when I was an apprentice. I'd wish you luck but you don't believe in luck. You can give it to me when you come home.   
There was also a small black and white snapshot of Roy sitting on Cirrocco's back with Maes and Nina in front of him on the double Ishballan saddle, his arms tight around them, Havoc standing beside them on the ground, saluting and holding the reins. Grinning, he slipped the picture and note inside his breast pocket over his heart and slid the leather thong around his neck and down inside his shirt. He grinned and gave a thumbs up to his crew.  
The engine coughed, spluttered and Amestris came to life. "Mom….Dad," he whispered, "please don't let me fuck this up…."  
#  
"Please…may I have a glass of water?"  
She looked as if someone had bled her dry as she fumbled with the hastily scribbled notes she'd brought to Radio Capital, the message General Edison had dictated to her over the phone. All she had to do was read this message over the radio…that's all she had to do to get her daughter back alive. She had heard Elycia sobbing and crying for her in the background. All she's lost is her pigtail…so far.  
"I'll do anything you ask," she had told him firmly.  
"Yes, Mrs. Hughes." The chuckle on the other end of the receiver made her sick to her stomach. "I know you will."  
Her throat was so tight she could scarcely swallow. She cleared it, gulped a breath of air and tried to keep her voice steady as she read the General's message over international radio…  
#  
In the rotgut room in Madame Christmas' establishment, Riza Hawkeye was startled to hear the voice of Gracia Hughes, not the Drachman commentator, coming from the adjacent room:

"G-good morning. I'm…I'm …Gracia Hughes. I've been asked to…re…re the voice from the radio cleared its throat and continued,–read…a statement from former General Edison of the Amestrian National Army:

'Citizens of Amestris, Drachma, Aerugo, Creta and all allied and enemy nations. I represent the last surviving members of the inner cabinet of the late Fuhrer President King Bradley of Amestris, who was killed during the uprising five years ago. Many of us—most of us-have been rounded up as war criminals. I am one of the few who escaped. My Fuhrer is dead. The government we gave our lives to establish has been overthrown. We are defeated, and history is written by the winners in this world. I am certain that before this day is over I too will be murdered or silenced. This is why I've chosen this moment, when the whole world is listening, to reveal the truth about the coup that changed our nation.  
'The man you salute and cheer for, that arrogant youngster who leads this nation, has blood on his hands and murder in his heart. You have handed this nation over into the hands of a terrorist. My Fuhrer was assassinated by direct order of Roy Mustang….'"  
#  
At an altitude of 25 feet, Edward Elric's blood was pounding in his ears. The adrenaline rush made his hands sweat and tremble but he held onto the stick, keeping steady…keeping steady…until he realized he was holding his breath. With a great 'whoooff!' of exhalation he began his descent. Somewhere below him he could hear Alphonse whooping and cheering and Ed's face broke out into an enormous smile.  
It was the longest 108 seconds of his life, and in his opinion, among the most triumphant. He had no idea that this historic moment—the dawn of manned flight- was missed by nearly everyone else important to him, their attention riveted to the radio, listening in astonishment to the trembling voice of a frightened mother who had pre-empted his coverage…  
#  
"-in his days at the Military Academy he was..was..c-c The words caught in Gracia's throat. She couldn't say this. She couldn't. She'd worked so hard—so very, very hard to make peace with this part of her husband's past. And now she was being forced to read it out loud, on the air.  
For Elycia, she would do anything. Even this….

"-c-called in for disciplinary actions when he was reported to have been sodomized by and engaged in oral copulation with the late Brigadier General Maes Hughes, a court martial offense of fraternization reported by the late Zolf Kimblee—another member of Bradley's staff that mysteriously disappeared when he moved to oppose Mustang's plot to overthrow the government in collaboration with Major General Olivier Armstrong. There have been suspicions raised that he may have engaged in inappropriate behavior with Edward Elric before he came of age Gracia's face burned with humiliation.—and at the same time that he was seducing his way up the chain of command with the weak-willed and impressionable, he was known for his promiscuity with women, having been reared in a house of prostitution-"  
#  
As Havoc pulled into the alley, a scrawny, dirty boy perched on a fire escape gave a sharp, birdlike whistle. Roy was instantly alert. It was the sound all his aunts staff had learned, roughly translating as cheese it—the Guards are coming. During Roy's childhood during the Gin Wars, it meant hide the liquor and haul out the hymnals. By the time the Guard arrived, there was a full-fledged Temperance sing-song in progress and Roy was passing out cookies and coffee, heavily roped with bourbon. Only one person could have taught the kid that sound. Roy glanced up, touched his forehead in what was nearly a salute and the kid gave him a grin and a big thumbs up. "I don't like this," Roy growled softly to Havoc. Stand by. No telling what we could be walking into."  
#  
"Bet a mouthful of broken teeth would shut him up." Chris Mustang scowled at the radio that broadcast Edison's rambling screed throughout her restaurant—in every public spot in town.  
It went on and on and on. Edison had left his manifesto at Il Gattina and it must have been hell, she reckoned, for Gracia to have to read it. But if her kid was taken by that bald-headed bastard, she didn't doubt that Gracia would have given him a blowjob in front of the multitudes if it might buy time until they got Elycia back.  
Roy marched in the door, Havoc at his heels. "The children?" he demanded without preamble.  
"Safe."  
"I want to see them."

She led him through the secret passage in the dry goods pantry, through the rot gut room—Hawkeye had to step aside to let him pass—and into Room 5.  
What he saw inside nearly made his heart stop.  
Maes had found Doctor Chen's box of toys which Roy had forgotten he'd left locked in the room in his hurry to get home and be with the children to hear Ed's flight broadcast.  
The rubber phallus was suction-cupped to the middle of Maes' forehead. He was bobbing his little blonde head up and down and giggling with innocent glee.  
"Look, Unkaroy-I'm a youuuuuneeecornnnnn!"  
Roy was speechless. He waved, weakly. He stepped backwards through the rotgut room. "Carry on," he told an astonished Hawkeye, and he closed the door firmly behind him.

Back in his aunt's office he listened as Gracia concluded Edison's manifesto.  
"-the deaths of the innocent Selim Bradley and our own Fuhrer on his hands. And to insure his cooperation, we are holding hostage the child of his lover, little Elycia Hughes…" There was a loud sob and a long moment of silence. "If he surrenders and faces me, man to man, I will release her. You have one hour. You know where to find me now. Rosemary for remembrance."  
His face betrayed no emotion. His fine features were carved in ice and ivory, cool and perfect and emotionless. He reached into his pocket and pulled on his gloves. He tugged them on.  
A very, very strange smile played over his lips.

"No Scar," he said softly, half to himself. "No Ed. No Lieutenant."  
Above that dark, twisted smile, his eyes were burning.

"No mercy….."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED…..


	34. "NO MERCY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown between Roy Mustang and Bradley’s former accomplice General Edison, who is holding Elycia Hughes as his hostage—and the killing rage from Roy’s battle with Envy roars into an inferno once again…

"NO MERCY"  
By The Binary Alchemist 2012  
"Roy, lemme tell you something. There is nothing more dangerous than an enemy who has nothing left to lose,." said the ghost in Roy's head.  
That's where you're wrong, Hughes. I am more dangerous. Especially if someone hurts your child.  
###  
"He's at Il Gattina." It was not a question.  
Chris Mustang stubbed out a cigarette. "Most likely. You gonna finish him off?" Those cold eyes told her all she needed to know. "The Fuhrer of Amestris is going to personally light a candle on a terrorist. " She fumbled for her cigarette pack and thumbed out another filter tip. "Don't know what that's gonna do for your image."  
Havoc lit it for her. "She's right, Chief. Let me—"  
It was the wrong thing to say. He realized it as soon as the words slipped out. Roy's icy glare held him for a moment. Havoc looked away. "Your call, Mr. President. You do what you gotta do. Tell me what you need."  
"Tell Hawkeye to stay with the children. My orders. Guard them better than she has ever guarded me. " She's not gonna like that, not one damn bit, Havoc realized but saluted and ducked into the Rotgut Room.  
Moments later, he ducked out. "She says, 'aye, Sir!' and the kids are…uh…playing around with-"  
Roy lifted his hand, already gloved. The battle posture shut Havoc up instantly. He nodded. "So…what's the move?"  
"He wants a grand gesture. This isn't about the Old Guard."  
"Sir?"  
The old woman nodded. " Yeah. Everybody who ever worked with him knows he's a coward. And once he got free our intelligence let it slip that he'd personally had his nuts kicked in by the Snow Queen of Briggs…and a housewife."  
"No credibility," Roy seconded. "No honor among thieves. "  
Havoc shook his head. "So all this is about getting some credibility with the Old Guard?"  
"And jockeying for a position of power if the Old Guard overthrows the current government…which it won't. Over my dead body."  
Chris Mustang shot her foster son a stern look. "That's why you better watch your ass out there, Roy-Boy."  
###  
He hadn't realized how heavily he was sweating until he climbed out of the aircraft and dropped to the ground. He swayed slightly and grabbed at a guy wire to keep from falling over. "Fuckin' did it….fuckin' DID IT!"" he stammered over and over, as Alphonse screeched over, jumped off his motorcycle and hugged him so fiercely he nearly lifted his brother off the ground.  
"Fuckin' did it, Al!"  
Al's eyes shone the way they did that day Ed freed him from the Gateway. His smile was so wide it seemed as if his face would split. Dr. Chen hurried over to check Ed's vitals , but Ed waved him away. "I guess Pio owes you lunch, Brother," Al laughed, looping his arm over Ed's shoulder to guide him to the bike's sidecar. Sure that his brother was secure, Al roared back to the viewing stand to meet with the Tsar and Tsarina and let Ed bask in some well-deserved glory.  
But when they arrived the crowd was buzzing anxiously and nobody was even glancing at them.  
Ed waved feebly. "Uh….hey? Hello? I…made it…guys? Ah…y'know? First flight and all that….? Anybody?"  
To his surprise, it was Bacalla that pushed his way through the crowd. There was a look of real concern on his face, and frankly that scared the hell out o him. "Wha…?"  
"The broadcast from Central was interrupted. Mustang is-"  
Ed blanched, shoved the Aerugoan out of the way and ran straight to the Tsar. "What's going-"  
The Tsarina stepped forward and clasped his hands. "Edward…my dear boy…the radio…you need to hear this…"  
Overhead he could hear the voice of Donnel Samuelson, the Radio Capital reporter.  
"….at least two confirmed dead, and seventy five people held hostage. The terrorist has identified himself as the former Amestrian Army General Edison, who had escaped custody during the attack on Central Command. He claims to be part of a terrorist cell known as the Old Guard and we have confirmed that President Mustang is negotiating with Edison to release the hostages—in particular Elycia Hughes, daughter of Mustang's lifelong friend Maes Hughes—we understand from his statement that Edison is demanding that Mustang exchange himself for the life of the child. Mustang appears to have agreed-and eyewitnesses have-"  
###  
A small mob of press were gathered outside the bakery. When her taxi pulled up, they converged on Gracia, swarming over the car like maggots over rotten meat and were nearly as repulsive to her. "Get them away," she whispered hoarsely to Foster, seated beside her, pistol in hand. "I'll do what you want, just get them away from me."  
The former newsman tucked his weapon inside his summer jacket, then stepped outside to face the crowd. "Gentlemen! Please—this is a sensitive situation. Please, step aside and let me escort Mrs. Hughes in so she can see her daughter."  
There was a sympathetic mumble and the cameras and notepads pulled back a respectful distance as she stepped out into the street. However, that didn't keep them from shouting out questions and snapping pictures…  
"MRS. HUGHES! Can you tell us what you're feeling right now?"  
"—did you ever suspect any of your husband's old enemies to target-"  
"—how do you think your daughter is holding up—"  
"-do you blame the Fuhrer for putting your family in danger—"  
"—is this some kind of publicity stunt to improve your ratings-"  
Maes always said he loved the strength in me, she repeated over and over in her mind. I'm not going to let him down. I'm going in and I am coming out with my child. I'm going in and coming out with my child. I'm stronger than I look, you damn vultures…and I'm bringing my baby home.  
"MOMMMMMYYYYY!"  
It hit her like a fist in the chest. For a moment she struggled to breathe.  
She smiled at her only child, hugged tight in a choke hold by the monstrous old man with the gun, smiling warmly at her from behind his old familiar station behind the sandwich counter. "It's all right, sweetie. We're going home soon." Fighting to keep her expression calm, she turned her eyes to Edison. "I did what you want. Let her go." She noticed for the first time how the crowd around here was sobbing and terrified. They'd come in for a treat—maybe a sandwich or a beer or just to listen to the broadcast. Over the speaker above her head, she faintly acknowledged a tremendous cheer and someone shouting "He did it! He's down! The first ever heavier-than-air aircraft, piloted by Aeronaut Edward Elric, has just-"  
A finger twitched on a trigger.  
The radio went silent.  
"Is he coming?" Edison demanded, fingers tightening around the child's neck.  
"I…I don't know. I read the statement. I did what you asked. Now give me my daughter back."  
The pistol's nose lightly grazed Elycia's temple. "Let's see if he comes for her. Let's see how much your…Uncle Roy….really cares about you, Hmmmmm?"  
Gracia took a deep breath. "Then let all these people go. Fuhrer Mustang's the one you want. You have Elycia. You have me. These other people are of no use to you."  
"Useless?" Edison considered. "Yes. I have no need for useless people."  
A finger twitched on a trigger.  
Charles Foster went silent.  
A blossom of blood appeared in the middle of his forehead. The bullet passed right through, clipping Gracia's cheek before lodging into the wall behind her.  
Instantly she was knocked to her knees as the crowd stampeded through the open front door. Edison pressed the pistol back against Elycia's head while the terrified child screamed for her mother. Edison didn't seem to hear her. He kept his eyes trained eagerly towards the door, almost as if awaiting a lover's return. The bakery girls and bake house boys huddled against the far wall, hugging each other, to scared to run. Sophie was clinging to the old woman who dipped the chocolates, shoulders shaking as she wept for her grandfather, trying to draw as little attention to herself as she could under the circumstances.  
###  
They had gotten Ed back to the dacha as quickly as they could. "Edward-Tovarich will be making a statement later regarding the flight. At the moment, he is more concerned for his…family." Pyotir addressed the microphone. "He will be most glad to give you an account of the flight. He has instead asked me to answer your questions until he is available for comment."  
The cameras swerved to capture the earnest young professor as he lured the crew out into the garden.  
Edward was too upset to care but Alphonse was deeply grateful. "Just get them away, please. Brother can't think about that right now. He's too worried about Elycia and Roy."  
"And his children, I am thinking," Nataly added. She patted Ed's shoulder in sympathy. "I make coffee." Bacalla followed her into the kitchen and began making sandwiches, taking no notice that he could have been outside with his wagon, selling to the crowd that now trampled the vegetable garden and perched on the rickety wooden fence; spilling out into the dusty street.  
Maxim brought the phone to the sofa, while Alexi tuned the radio to the national station. Alphonse had persuaded Tsar Dimitri and the Tsarina to return to their private car at the train station. "Really, Highnesses, there's nothing you can do right now. Might be safer to make sure you're not in harm's way." The royals agreed, the Tsarina making him promise to send Alexi to the station the moment there was news.  
Lobachevsky said little, looking confident. "I have every confidence in your President, Edward-Tovarich. In his judgment and in his familiarity in dealing with situations like this. He will resolve this quickly."  
Edward looked up at him. "Two dead, they said,"  
"They didn't mention Elycia. If he'd killed her, you know they would have said something," Al reminded him, as Nataly placed a cup at his elbow.  
"They didn't mention Fuhrer Mustang either," Maxim added hopefully. "Do you know this Edison they speak of?"  
Ed hunched over his coffee but didn't take a sip. "Not really. I tried to stay the hell away from the brass. I know Teacher and Major General Armstrong kicked his ass and were really pissed when he got away. I always figured he'd turn up." His eyes lifted miserably to Al's. "I need to be there." Alphonse lifted his eyebrows. "How soon can we—"  
Alphonse shook his head regretfully. "It's not that easy, Ed. We can't ready the Xerxes that fast. We could get you on the train to Stoltovgrad, but you'd still have to get to Briggs and then take the tunnel—" he glanced at Ruby, who nodded, "—but even so, it would take at least five—six days of travel if you're lucky and—"  
Fingers tensed and became fists. "Don't care," Ed growled. "He needs—"  
"—to know where you are." To everyone's surprise, Bacalla intruded into the conversation. He placed a pair of hot sausage rolls, thickly covered with mustard, beside the untouched coffee. "The last thing Fuhrer Mustang needs in a crisis is you haring off in all directions when he needs to talk to you. Don't make it worse for him. Be accessible. Be here where he can reach you. "  
From under his sweaty fringe Ed stared up at his nemesis. "Why," he mumbled, "the fuck should you care?"  
"I don't." The Aerugoan tugged at his goatee thoughtfully. "Nor do I care about Mustang. .However," he nodded at Nataly, " recent events have, shall we say, granted me a different perspective. There's a child involved. It occurs to me that your Fuhrer is her best chance of getting her out alive. "  
The room went silent for a stunned second. Lobachevsky smiled at Nataly's husband.. "You've changed."  
The caustic sneer was back again.  
"Dear god, I hope not. I'll have to disembowel myself."  
###  
"THERE HE IS! Fuhrer Mustang! Sir! Are you going in to negotiate with General Edison to release your lover's child?"  
They swarmed over him, surprised to see the President in his casual dress uniform, accompanied by Jean Havoc, a cigarette wreathing his head in smoke. The Fuhrer and his bodyguard strolled casually out of nowhere, smiling and relaxed.  
'Negotiate? With a terrorist? You gotta be kidding!" Havoc joked. "Pretty funny, eh, Chief?"  
Mustang chuckled softly. "Sorry. I skipped class the day they covered negotiating with terrorists at the academy. And I was in the infirmary with the flu when they discussed terms of surrender." His smile was broad and winning. "Actually, we're here for couple of sandwiches…"  
"I don't know, Havoc…I just can't decide…..what's good here?"  
They had pressed past the bleeding Gracia, stepped over the body of Charles Foster and were now staring up at the chalkboard menu above the deli counter. Roy was intently studying the selection, completely ignoring the furious Edison and the little girl screaming piteously for him to help her. "You want something hot or cold, Chief?"  
"Depends. I'm leaning towards ham and cheese…" He glanced over ad Edison. "I hear you've got an uncanny knack for guessing what your customers want. Isn't that right Mr. Rosemario?"  
Havoc drew a deep drag and nodded. "Yeah, he's uncanny. Only this time…I think I want chicken. You think they got that, or have they run out?"  
"I see plenty of chicken behind the deli case," Roy smirked. " Speaking of which, y'know I've heard of sandwich makers too chicken to actually wait on their customers. I guess it's so much easier to hide behind small children and pretend they can't see you're ready to order. Remind me not to put anything in the tip jar. It's on me, Havoc. Deli sliced chicken on—you want a hard roll?—okay, on a hard roll with mayo, extra tomatoes, lettuce and a dill pickle. Chips or pretzels?"  
"They make good pretzels, Chief. Seriously twisted."  
"Twisted. Must be the specialty of the house. His Fuhrer nodded, pointing up at the sandwich choices overhead. "Good, good. Make that a basket of soft pretzels—extra mustard for dipping. As for me—" he stepped closer, smiling warmly, "I'll have ham and switzer cheese on seeded rye—couple of dill pickles on the side. Two St. Aquroya Girls—draft if you've got it, or bottles if you don't. Got it?"  
Havoc nudged his boss. "How do you want it, Chief?"  
Roy's smile turned nasty. "Toasted"  
His right hand was pointing at the menu.  
His left hand snapped.  
A pinpoint of fire caught Edison right to the recurrent branch of the median nerve, paralyzing the thenar eminence and causing his hand to go numb and unresponsive as well as shooting a jolt of sheer agony up pronator teres, in the forearm, the cubital fossa in the elbow, along the brachial plexus, straight to axcilla in the armpit. It seared up the brachial plexus and by the time the agony reached his brain the gun had dropped to the floor and Edison was screaming like a pig under the butcher's knife. "I was out of school when they covered negotiating with terrorists and unconditional surrender, General. However," he added thoughtfully, "I was a whiz at anatomy. I know exactly how badly that hurt you and I have absolutely no problem doing it again. Now," he leaned in close to the counter, "let the kid go. If you want to play, we can take this outside."  
Havoc dove for the gun. Edison tightened his grip on Elycia's throat. "N..nothing doing, faggot," he panted. "You want her? Come get her." Using Elycia as a shield he backed slowly out between the swinging doors. Roy was right behind him.  
Elycia, struggling for breath, gagged, wet herself and went limp, dead weight in Edison's arms. He slapped her sharply as he ducked into the alley. "C'mon, kid…let Uncle Roy hear you scream for him." He slapped her a second time and she wailed in terror. "That's more like it."  
Roy stood at the back door, hand raised to strike again with another volley of agonizing flame. Over years of practice he could snap a pinpoint of fire with such lethal accuracy he could boil the fluids right out of the human eye without singing a single eyelash.  
He'd done it before.  
He was aching to do it again.   
There was a fine tremor of fury in his limbs, a rush of adrenaline and hate and the memory of a hideous green worm under his boot and the half grown child who snatched it away from him and judged him as having lost his senses. The memory of Hawkeye's pistol against the back of his head…her threats of suicide…the goddamn helplessness of it all….  
I had him…I had Maes' killer….it killed itself like a coward…  
"No mercy," he whispered under his breath. "No mercy…"  
He had stashed a second gun in the alley behind an ashcan. Above him , perched on a fire escape, a street urchin saw a bald man dragging a child by the neck and whistled loudly for Madame Christmas…for Roy Mustang…for anybody.  
A finger twitched.  
The whistle was silenced.  
In her office, Chris Mustang reached under her desk for her pearl handled revolver. Outside the door there was shouting and a loud crash as a bus boy was clouted over the head with the butt end of a revolver. "Anybody moves and she's fucking dead!" Edison shouted. "MUSTANG! MUUUUUSSTAAANNGGGGG! Get out here, you cocksucker! Come and get his precious only baby!" His fingernails dug into Elycia's neck. "Come on…call for your Uncle Roy…see if he cares enough to come and get you and take you back to Mommy…"  
"Goddamn it, he's got the kid," Chris growled. "I'm a good shot, but—"  
Elycia, terrified, howled and screamed for help. "Uncle Roy! UNCLE ROY! Please-"  
"Wroy?"  
Nina heard his name and her friend's voice. She sounded scared and Nina knew 'lycia needed a hug and a kiss to make it better. She dashed towards the door. "NO! Nina!" Hawkeye shouted, diving forward to snatch her back to safety.  
Maes dashed past them, past Beak, and yanked the door open before the older child could stop him.  
For a terrible split second, the little blonde boy stared up at General Edison. He saw his playmate struggling, screaming and sobbing, her face darkly bruised.  
"You doo-doo head!" He hurled a set of solid jade anal beads from Roy's toy box at the intruder. "YOU SHIT!"  
A finger twitched.  
A hand yanked Maes Elric backward into Room 5 and slammed the door behind him.  
A bullet ripped through the door and caught Beak in the hip, just as Hawkeye snatched out her gun and returned fire.  
"Guard the children…guard them more carefully than you would guard me."  
Orders were orders.  
Riza Hawkeye grabbed Maes and Nina, shoved them into the Rot Gut room and locked the door. She carefully gathered Beak into her arms, carried him behind the cover of the overturned chaise and checked his wound, which thankfully had missed his artery. "Lie still," she whispered. "Be as quiet as you can." She heard Roy barking out a command and the sound of rushing footsteps.  
Someone pounded at the door. "Comin' in—don't shoot, goddamn it!" Chris Mustang shouted. She shouldered her way through the door and slammed it behind her, locking it from the inside. "Damnation—what the….?" She dropped to her knees beside Beak. The boy was white lipped but trying not to cry. She stared at him for a moment, as if seeing him for the first time. Then she laid her hand on his forehead. "Soon as it's clear, I'll get you out of here, son. Get you to a hospital—"  
"—n—nuh—" The boy made a gesture of denial., and the old woman understood. He was a hard scrabble boy with hunger etched in his face. Probably worried about someone at home.  
"Bullcrap. You work for me—you and your buddies. I take care of my own. You got someone at home? I'll get your money to 'em. You saved my grandson—well, as good as I'm gonna get to have one—so you got me in your debt. And soon as you get back on your feet, we'll get you set up. Bet the bakery could use some help." A plump, ringed hand patted his. "I've got your back, kid."  
###  
Roy tore through the crowded restaurant and out the back door to the alley where he'd heard the boy on the fire escape whistle the 'cheeze-it' warning. Glancing up, he saw a pale arm hanging limp from above, a puddle of fresh blood on the sidewalk below. "No mercy," he grated through clenched teeth. "No mercy!"  
He followed the screams around the corner and found Edison waiting for him, Elycia in a chokehold close to his chest. She had wet and soiled herself and her face and neck were livid with bruises but she was still struggling. Still alive.  
He put up his hands. "My life for hers? That was what you wanted. You got it, old man. Tell me what you want."  
"On your knees, cocksucker. I hear you're real good at that. Gloves off and on the ground. Now." The pistol was jammed against Elycia's temple once again. "Or you'll be wiping her brains off that uniform that's not fit for a traitor like you. Bradley should have taken you down to the lab years ago. Should have had Tucker make you a chimera. Should have crossed you with bitch in heat so we could throw you in the alley and watch the dog chimeras fuck you to death. Do it!"  
The Flame Alchemist nodded, dropped his head to his chest and sighed in resignation. The gloves were yanked off and laid on the pavement. He heard the hammer cock back. "Say hello to your daddy, you little cunt!"  
Two scarred palms slapped the asphalt. It bent. It curled up like a hand, swelling like an ocean wave, and knocked Elycia Hughes right out of Edison's grip. The gun went off right over her head as she tumbled and rolled, coming to rest beside an ash can. "RUN!" Roy bellowed to her. "GET OUT OF HERE!"  
Then he glanced up at his former superior officer, now pointing his pistol at Roy's head.  
A finger twitched.  
Three fingers snapped, just a fraction faster.  
General Edison shrieked as his skin blistered writhing and slapping frantically as clothing smoldered briefly then blazed. He clawed at his face, his eyes, tried to tear his garments off, his frantic movements only fanning the blaze.  
Roy clapped his hand. A whoosh of oxygen sucked backwards towards the alchemist and the flames were extinguished.  
Edison collapsed. Mustang rose wearily, stood over the madman and placed one boot very lightly over his windpipe. "This is the second time I've had something ugly and inhuman under my boot." He thought of his lover-was it only five years ago? When Roy had threatened to burn his arm off if he didn't hand Envy over after pulling the same trick Mustang had just copied? You told me you wished I could see my own face at that moment, Ed. You asked me if my country should be lead by a man who could not control his fury. Scar said I'd become an animal.  
I am not an animal.   
He lifted his foot.  
'You have NO idea how much I want to do this….and how easy it would be to turn you into a puddle of grease and ashes and charcoal. " The asphalt rose up like hands again and curled tightly around Edison's wrists and ankles, pinning him to the ground.  
Mustang looked down at him with cool disgust as Havoc and Hawkeye pounded up the alley, a squadron of the City Guard right behind him, guns drawn.  
"I'd love to finish you right now. I won't. I'll let the State judge you." He clapped his hands and the asphalt receded. Edison wailed in agony as Havoc jerked him to his feet and cuffed him.  
"I won't kill you. I'm a better man than that."  
…..TO BE CONTINUED


	35. "AN ICON FROZEN IN TIME"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some images in history that become icons of a time, a place--a person...a hero. But behind the headlines a very human, very soul-weary man takes stock of what he has been through and how others have suffered because of one madman's obsession to kill Fuhrer President Mustang...and Roy decides that for Edward and his--their--children, the price may be to high...

WHOLE LIVES, CHAPTER 35: "AN ICON FROZEN IN TIME"

BY THE BINARY ALCHEMIST 

 

Edward snatched the phone off its cradle. His shoulders sagged.

Alphonse paled. "Brother?"

"Okay!" he shouted to the friends who surrounded him. "They're okay, all of them." He turned back to the receiver. "Start from the top," he commanded to the voice on the other end. His friends respectfully withdrew to the dining table, hugging one another with relief while Alexi darted outside to tell the press and to hurry to the nearest phone to inform a very worried Tsar and Tsarina before they would hear it on the radio.

Ten minutes later, he hung up. Elbows on knees, he covered his face with his hands.

Something nudged his shoulder.

It was a bottle of hundred year old Aerugoan Nebbiolo Rossofrom the Sun King's private stock.

Ed blinked in surprise. A bottle of Nebbiolo Rossohad been formally presented to Roy by the court for the presidential wine cellar. Exactly how in the hell a fully mature bottle of Aerugo's rarest and had been smuggled out of Claudio's personal collection and into the shabby parlor of a tumbledown old dacha in Drachma was not something Edward would have wanted to inquire too closed about. No doubt it had been intended for the Tsar's table—or perhaps the former castellan had light-fingered it out of spite before being sent away.

He rubbed the wetness of his cheeks and cocked a sardonic eyebrow at the Aerugoan.

"What—no corkscrew?"

As soon as Lobachevsky examined the bottle he reacted with the same excessive caution of a soldier who has just been handed a live grenade with a jiggly pin. "Call Pyotir in from the garden," he whispered reverently, "and we should wait, da- let the wine breathe for half an hour—and save a swallow for Alexi. Maxim? Draw the curtains if you will…"

"Screw the glasses," Ed declared once Pyotir and Alexi had joined them. He took a deep pull straight from the bottle, and passed it to Alphonse. He was so exhausted he was the only person in the room who didn't oooh or ahhhh in delight over the sublime vintage.

"Might as well be kvass the notice he gives this," Pyotir chuckled after a blissful swallow. "So your Roy is unhurt? And the little girl too?"

"Yeah. That was Havoc" Ed's smile faded. "Lemme tell you what happened…."

###

"Get rid of them," Roy hissed between clenched teeth. They were swarming all over him and for once his studied cool was about to desert him. The muscles in his forearm twitched. Force of will alone kept him from snapping his fingers and clearing the street.

There was blood all over his uniform. It wasn't his, but the photographers didn't care. The image of Roy Mustang—Fuhrer President Roy Mustang, hero of the hour—in a blood soaked uniform, clutching a wounded little boy in his arms, kneeling in a grimy alleyway, would make the wire services all over the known world. It would become an iconic image, even more so than the triumphal photo of him at his inaugural, the elegant young Fuhrer lifting his hand in salute to the crowd as they roared their approval by the light of a thousand flashbulbs.

That iconic image would be frozen in time, printed and reprinted in history books, reenacted on screen and brought to light in future generations when the Mustang presidency was discussed and argued or sighed for as humans are wont to do when recollecting Better Times.

Roy Mustang, hero of the people once again, comforting the little boy who had been shot while watching in the alley, a bruised Elycia Hughes sobbing in the arms of the handsome Major Havoc, who appeared to be speaking softly to the child and wiping away her tears with gentle hand.

"Mustang cares."

The image said it all, and in the barrooms and coffee shops and around the kitchen tables and board rooms the men and women of Amestris all whispered and nodded and sighed in relief.

"He cares about us…rich or poor…we aren't just faces in the crowd. He risked his life for children…" Glasses were raised, toasts were offered and an ever-fickle public shrugged off the ugliness that that poor Gracia—that lady from Midday Amestris, the one who did the crafts features—was forced to read.

A fine man, they told one another. A damn fine man indeed.

In Ishbal there were many who nodded and said, "We were right to forgive him."

In Aerugo, Prince Claudio stared at the photograph that had set Alex Louis Armstrong sobbing into his morning coffee. "An astute press, making full use of the moment. Still…." A telegram was fired off to Central City, offering support and suggesting that perhaps in the days to come Aerugo's position regarding it's participation in the Collegium of Alexandra might be renegotiated to everyone's mutual benefit.

In Rush Valley, Winry snatched the paper out of Garfiel's hands, read, reread and reread again, then she called Dublith Meat Shop. "I'm getting my babies out of there!" Mason told her Izumi and Sig were already at the station, tickets in hand.

And in hiding, cowardly men who had disgraced their uniforms with treachery for the sake of eternal life realized that one of their own had betrayed them. Had Edison shot himself before Mustang captured him, the Old Guard would have continued—slowly and cautiously—to attempt to infiltrate positions of advantage. But no—the old man had to hare off on his own, using a reporter of dubious loyalty as his personal cat's-paw. The few who remained—fifteen in all now—realized that Edison's gaffe had produced precisely the opposite of what they had hoped for. With the image of the maligned Mustang saving the lives of children—and emphatically not killing or even seriously wounding his enemy- and stating public ally that Edison would be subjected to a public trial "on the grounds that he had already been stripped of military rank by Former Fuhrer President Grumman"…all of this had put the remnants of the Old Guard in serious jeopardy. "He'll sing," the message circulated. "He'll betray us all to prevent being hanged for treason against the state. Someone on the inside will have to take care of him."

###

Once the ambulance had taken Elycia, Pockets—now identified as twelve year old Jake Leeson, and ten year old Davy Collins—wounded in the hip saving the life of Maes Elric—straight to the military hospital with Havoc looking after Gracia Hughes, Roy Mustang shouldered his way past the crowd, ducking into the delivery room at Madame Christmas'. "Maes," he panted. "Nina—are they-?"

"Right where they're 'sposed to be, although you gotta teach that boy of yours to stay put or he's gonna get his head blown off some day," Chris Mustang growled. "Listen, I gotta get to the hospital. My fault Pockets and Beak got shot. They—"

"Later," Roy told her wearily. The sight of the door to Room Five, now splintered and ventilated with bullet holes, made him sick at his stomach.

He called out loudly "Don't shoot, Colonel—it's me," before drawing the key from his pocket and letting himself in, locking it firmly behind him. "Where are they?" he barked, perhaps more sharply than he intended.

"In here, Sir-" Hawkeye's demeanor began to waver. Mustang saw that helpless, guilt-ridden look in her eyes. He'd seen it before and it had made him angry and right now he didn't have time for it. This is when she gets careless—when she thinks I'm in danger. I thought she'd gotten past that. That boy got shot and Maes nearly….he gritted his teeth. He would discuss this with her later, when he wasn't pumped-up full of adrenalin and fury and fear for his children.

"WROY!"

"UNKAROY!"

They shot out of the rotgut room, grinning and flung themselves at him. Judging from the mustard on Maes' chin he'd been helping himself to the sandwich hamper Aunt Chris had stashed in there as soon as she knew there was trouble. "Hide and seek!" he yelled exuberantly. "Hidenskeek!" Nina echoed.

Bloody, sweaty, reeking of smoke, Roy Mustang fell to his knees and yanked both children tightly into his arms, swallowing hard against the tightness In his throat.

Because of me…because of me…Ed almost lost you…

He would not risk them a second time.

###

Chris Mustang nodded as her nephew closed the door of the children's ward behind him. "You found their parents?"

The old woman nodded. "Pocket's ma was working the street but I tracked her down. That one's in a bad way. I should know."

Roy nodded. "And Davy?"

"Dad was a veteran. He's in a bad way too. Wanted to come see the boy. I'll bring him up tomorrow." She reached for a cigarette then remembered that she couldn't very well light up in the children's ward. "Lucky shot, Knox says. Should be up in no time."

Roy glared at her. "He shouldn't have been in danger in the first place."

A dark brow lifted above a keen green eye. "Same for old man Faust, or those people in the bakery. We had a mad dog loose in the street, an old mad dog who needed to be put down-"

Roy's face flushed with anger as he turned on his aunt."-and what would that have proven? That the Fuhrer…the President….is above the law?" His voice dropped into a whisper as heads began to turn in their direction. "You think I didn't want to burn him to ashes for what he did? It was all I could do…all I could do, Ma'am….not to boil out the fluids in his eyes and listen to him scream before roasting him slowly inside his own uniform. And I can do that. I've done it. And you know what? It didn't make me sleep any better." He nodded in the direction of the children's ward. "Helping Davy and Jake and their families will."

###

When he knelt beside Elycia's hospital bed bed, she turned her face to the wall and her small shoulders began to tremble. He reached out to gently stroke her hair but stopped himself before making matters worse.

He closed the door behind him. "She saw me burn him…Edison." There was no emotion in his voice. "I'm a monster, apparently."

Gracia Hughes slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed Roy Mustang warmly on the cheek.

"Not to me," she whispered gratefully as she hugged her husband's old lover with all her strength. "Not to me."

###

The statement to the press was brief.

'General Edison has been taken into custody. He has been treated for superficial burns and will stand trial before a parliamentary grand jury on two counts of murder, assault, kidnapping, and conspiracy tantamount to treason. Miss Hughes is resting comfortably in good condition. Davy Collins and Jake Leeson are resting comfortably and are both expected to make a full recovery. President Mustang offers his support to the Collins and Leeson families and his condolences to the family and friends of Signor Faust of Il Gattina. The whereabouts of the family of Charles K. Foster are not known at this time."

###

There was a letter from the publisher 'below the fold' on the editorial page of the Central Times. It was dwarfed between a large ad that blared "SUFFERING FROM CONSTIPATION? FEEN-A-PHYSIK LAXATIVE CAN HELP! Available at Central Pharmacy, open all night for your convience" and a mildly provocative ad for the Rialto Cinema which was showing " SHE DONE HER WRONG" starring screen siren Gladys Turlough and Gloria Keen-Jones, along with two newsreels and a cartoon, all for ten cenz.

"To Our Faithful Readers:

"It has been brought to our attention that former newsman Charles K. Foster has been named as a co-conspirator in the upcoming trial of former General Edison. The Central Times wants to assure its readers that at no point did Management or the Editorial Staff have any knowledge of Mr. Foster's involvement with the so-called "Old Guard" terrorist organization. Central Times has offered its full cooperation with City Guard and the Mustang Administration to get to the truth of the matter. In view of the suspect nature of the articles printed under Mr. Foster's by-line, the Central Times regrets any inaccuracies.  
"Winchell R. Murrow, Publisher, Central Times"

###

"Live coverage?"

Donal Samuelson shook his head. "Got the call from Breda. Says that Edison's trial is now gonna be a military tribunal."

"That was fast," Frank Archer told him from the other side of the visitation glass. "They want to keep him shut up. They don't want the real truth about what happened in Bradley's regime to come out. People will be shitting their pants. What they don't know won't keep them up nights screaming in their sleep and will keep them from executing every goddamned alchemist in this country, starting with the Flamer himself."

"Yeah, well…." Samuelson sighed. "Would have been one hell of a story."

Archer glanced at his former colleague. "Maybe you should write it? Not like the truth will ever come out , unless Mustang or Fullmetal write their memoirs."

Outside the prison, Donal Samuelson nursed a cup of coffee at the lunch counter in Central Pharmacy. "Mustang's memoirs….now there's an idea…."

###

He let her have it. It hurt nearly as much as it had that time in the hospital when she had been summoned to his bedside after the battle with Lust.

"I failed him again."

All he had asked her to do was protect Edward's children. Instead, Nina had nearly escaped her, Maes had gotten loose, nearly been shot and now an innocent boy was recovering from surgery—and she should have been protecting him too.

"Colonel, if you are not able to follow my orders you should consider reassignment. If need be I will reassign you myself."

He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it and she knew he didn't mean it and, moreover he knew SHE knew he didn't mean it.

Jean rubbed Riza's shoulders, digging his fingers deep where she carried the tension that never showed on her face. "Chief's right, y'know. Look, I know you've been sweet on him for years—hey, I can live with that. But the whole time you were watchin' the kids all you wanted to do was be at his side, guns blazing, tryin' to save the ass of the man you're hung up on." He kissed her softly on the back of her neck, right were the tattoo had been partially burned away. "Some point you gotta ask yourself, Riza—who are you livin' for? For your own happiness or for a man who's never gonna be what you wanted him to be for you. 'Cause we ain't getting any younger. You're what—33 now? And how much of that time have you been livin' for Roy Mustang? One of these days, he's gonna retire or step down…he's gonna want a life with Ed and the kids. And where are you gonna be? Sitting on his doorstep, polishin' your rifle and waiting for him to suddenly dump his man and family and decide to fall in love with you? Even if you got him, he's not what you need and you know it."

"Shut up, Havoc!"

He sighed and dropped another kiss on the old scars. "Yes, Ma'am, Colonel Hawkeye…."

###

"Ed?" Alphonse slipped into the darkened room without flipping on the light. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Fuck off."

'The hell I will. Move over."

Ed didn't budge, so Al gave him a shove and crawled under the covers. Ed was curled up in a ball in the dark, slightly drunk on outrageously expensive wine and the last thing on his mind was the history-making flight earlier that morning.

After a very long silence, Ed finally spoke. "We need to find a place when we get back to Central. I can fix up some living space in the dorm at the Institute, but maybe you might wanna get some place in town."

Alphonse sighed. Typical. Ed blaming himself and baling out at the first sign of trouble. He'd seen it a million times. "Don't be stupid, Brother—you and Roy—"

"He told me to leave. When we spoke." His brother's voice sounded thick with emotion, and Alphonse realized that the pillow under his head was damp. "Said Maes almost got shot. That Collins kid took a bullet for my son-and it was all his fault. Said he didn't…want…"

The words broke off and Alphonse hugged his brother tightly. "He doesn't mean it, Ed! You know better than that."

"Well, he sure as fuck believes it."

Alphonse socked him hard on the shoulder. "And you buying this bullshit?"

"Owww—FUCK!" Ed jerked back angrily. "Damnit, Al, that's the one with metal in it! Fuck, that hurt!"

"Good. Here's another!" Al socked him again. "Now listen to me, Brother. I am going to cut the red tape. I'm going to get us out of here, get us back to the Xerxes and back to Central…and then I'm going to go right to the President's office and I'm going to talk some everloving sense into him and tie the two of you together and you two are either going to make up and be a family or so help me I'll beat the crap out of both of you!"

Ed reached over and switched on the light. Al could see he had the Owner's Manual clutched tightly to his chest. His face was wet but his eyes were now blazing.

"Not if I beat his ass first…"

….To Be Concluded….


	36. WHOLE LIVES, CHAPTER 36: CONCLUSION, PART 1: SPINNING CARPET, FLYING TABLE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roy has informed Ed that the best thing for Ed’s children is for the two of them to part, in view of the recent assassination attempt. Ed plans to persuade his lover by force if necessary, but another interested party decides to intervene—and painfully so.

WHOLE LIVES, CHAPTER 36: CONCLUSION, PART 1: SPINNING CARPET, FLYING TABLE  
By The Binary Alchemist, 2012

(AUTHOR’S NOTE: The Conclusion is a two-parter thanks to LJ’s stubborn limitations…and we want the boys to have a splendid reunion, right? However, there’s a sticky matter of Roy’s decision to break off with Ed for the safety of the kids…..)

“Alphonse, I think I’m going to be sick,” Ruby moaned theatrically, hanging on the side of the airship’s gondola. The Xerxes swayed as Alphonse pulled down on the valve chain, slowing the airship as it prepared to land.  
“Ignore her, Al. She’s hoping she’ll pass out and you’ll give her mouth to mouth resuscitation—from the feet up. Hey Ruby!” Ed smirked, “If you puke and hit a civilian it’s five points. Ten if you hit a general and if you hit Mustang I’ll give you a fuckin’ raise.” He passed the spyglass to his brother. “Y’know, Al…maybe we could just stay up here a while longer, huh?” Central Command and the Central Commons loomed into view, shining white stone upon a verdant lawn that very nearly matched the colors of the Amestrian flags that fluttered from nearly every hand in the crowd below. “I just wanna enjoy a few more minutes of peace and quiet before the shitstorm hits.”  
Maxim slapped him hard across the shoulders. “You know what they say in my country about a big pile of shit, da? An Amestrian sees a big mess to clean up. A Drachman peasant says, ‘with all that govno piled so deep, there must be a pony in there somewheres’—in your case a Mustang. You may be buried in a mountain of shit, but he’s still there if you keep digging.”  
Aviator scarves were fluttering in the air along with the national flags. The breeze carried the delicious aroma of sausages steamed in beer, popped corn, candyfloss and all the wonderful fun-fair junk Ed would normally love to stuff his face with. Right now, he felt like he’d swallowed something very angry that was trying to chew its way out of his insides. Alphonse lowered the spyglass and gave his brother a cautioning look. “I mean it, Ed,” he warned his brother in a low voice. “Don’t mess this up. You know I can beat you—and I can beat Roy too. I—“  
“Shut up, Al,” Edward snapped back. “If anybody’s doin’ any beating, it’s gonna be me--”  
“I can see Winry and the kids!” Alphonse interrupted excitedly.  
‘I can hear Maes,” Ed grinned. “Damn, that kid’s got a set of lungs on him. Elycia and Gracia down there? They promised they would come.”  
“They’re …looks like Roy is holding up Nina—Elycia is right with them. That’s good. Guess she’s okay with him now, not scared of him. Oh, and Teacher’s got Maes now—looks like he’s got an aeronaut helmet on…”  
Ruby wasn’t the only one feeling sick. For a split second—only a split second—Ed considered knocking his brother in the head, grabbing the burner valves, yanking them up to high and roaring right past the capitol, heading on south past Dublith and Rush Valley and straight across the border to Aerugo. Claudio’d put us up. Maybe I should tell him he’s missing a really goddamned expensive bottle of wine…nahh…Peehole’s all right, I guess. “All right…might as well get it over with. Take her down, guys…”  
###  
Roy’s insides were killing him. “Funny. I don’t remember eating razor blades for breakfast.” It certainly felt like it.  
“Sir?” Havoc gave his boss an odd look.  
“Nothing.” Roy shook his head and adjusted his cap, which Nina kept wanting to inspect. “Have you got anything for an upset stomach?”  
“Got a roll of those chalky things,” Havoc grinned. “Nothing you’d want on your breath when you wanna kiss somebody—wait, got a peppermint. That’ll help. Don’t think Ed will mind either.”  
‘Havoc?”  
“Chief?”  
“Shut the hell up.”  
“Shutting up sir—oh wait…here they come…damn, that thing is huge. Good thing you got that new Aerodrome under construction. That ship is too damn big to fit on the front lawn anymore!”  
Nina squealed in delight and pointed “Ed FWY!!”  
The pain in Roy’s insides—especially in his chest—worsened dramatically. I’ll miss them. He glanced down at Elycia who was beaming up at him. At least I can be there for her, Maes…and for Davy Cooper and Jake Leeson and all the others that never would have had a chance if Edward hadn’t saved us all on the Promised Day. All the kids that can’t afford a good education…that can’t get enough to eat and turn to petty crime like Aunt Chris’ boys. I’ve always tried to protect the people—the loved ones and subordinates and friends—beside me and directly under me. I have to do more. I have to protect the future. His free hand rested lightly on Elycia’s head.  
The Military Band roared into a grand march as the guylines were secured and Alphonse gently coaxed his airship to the ground. He could see Maes wriggling frantically in Izumi’s grip. ‘Bet you he just peed himself,” he joked to his brother.  
“Bet you Winry’s glad she’s not holding hi—hey, look who’s with Winry! Isn’t that Pitt?” Ed grinned hugely. “Well whadya know…”  
Alphonse glanced towards the dignitary’s stand. She was there, waving and cheering enthusiastically with a tall, curly haired young doctor at her side. Winry was watching the Xerxes. Pitt Renback was watching Winry. Alphonse felt a very unpleasant churning in his guts for a split second, then turned his mind firmly to the task of a secure landing…and the forthcoming ‘discussion’ he planned to have with Ed and Roy as soon as they headed inside Central Command.

There was no use holding Maes back once his father had swung his long legs over the lip of the gondola and dropped to the ground. Nina wriggled fiercely and Roy let her go and hand in hand, the children tackled their father who had dropped to his knees to greet them. Ed was sprawled flat on his back, being covered in wet Nina kisses and Maes was sitting on his chest, crowing in delight “Daddy! Daddy!”, their beloved “Wroy” completely forgotten.  
Roy betrayed no emotion, but a small hand slipped inside his gloved one and squeezed hard. “You still have me, Uncle Roy.”  
His hand squeezed back. 

Roy waited, unmoving, until Ed managed to climb back onto his feet, Izumi and Sig scooping up the youngsters after hugging Ed and Alphonse themselves. When the brothers approached the podium, Roy snapped to a salute. “Edward Elric…Alphonse Elric. Welcome home, and congratulations on your successful mission.”  
He shook hands with Edward. “I oughta slug you,” the younger man hissed under his breath, grinning from ear to ear for the crowds.  
Roy tugged discreetly on the cuff of his glove. “I’d like to see you try…without alchemy.”  
An automail foot planted itself firmly on Roy’s boot. “You’ll be picking screws and scrap metal out of your asshole, Mr. President.”  
Hawkeye tensed. “Stand easy, Colonel,” Roy warned. He shook hands with Alphonse.  
“I need to talk to you—both of you….immediately, Sir,” the younger brother whispered. “It’s a matter of national security.”  
Roy’s eyes moved from the worried face of Alphonse to the furious, shark-like grin of Edward. “Very well,” he acceded. “In my office.” He glanced sharply at Colonel Hawkeye. “Alone.”  
###  
Alphonse gestured towards the well-worn leather sofa, his expression anxious enough that Roy humored him. “I’ll stand,” Ed stated, glancing away from the upholstery he had buffed with various bits of his anatomy on more occasions than he could count.  
“Ed—SIT!” Alphonse snapped. His brother’s knees, steel and flesh, obeyed. Ed was no fool. While he himself was more bark than bite, a barking Alphonse could—and usually did—mean the younger Elric was about to unleash his not inconsiderable temper.  
Alphonse was flushed and panting slightly, eyes swerving one to the other. Roy glanced up at his friend, schooling his expression so it betrayed nothing of the sickness squirming inside his guts. Let’s make an end to this before the hurt gets worse. The needs to be quick and clean.  
It wasn’t worth Ed’s time to hold back now. You fucker. Don’t you dare…don’t you DARE pull this shit with me….the only way you are walkin’ out on me is on your hands and knees—with my foot up your ass.  
“Well?? A matter of national security, you said?” Roy inquired mildly.  
“Yeah.” Alphonse cleared his throat. “An attack on the president.”  
One corner of Roy’s mouth lifted in amusement. His fingers unconsciously rubbed across the half-faded scar where he’d carved the salamander array on the back of his left hand—not that he needed that anymore. “Do you really want to do this, Alphonse?”  
The door burst open, revealing a deceptively small shadow, shaking its fist.  
“NO—BUT I DO!” 

The next thing Roy Mustang knew he was brushing something ticklish off his face.  
It was the carpet. He scarcely had time to notice how the ornate scrollwork pattern was spinning in front of his eyes as he crawled to his knees before something that felt like a size seven women’s rubber bathroom sandal caught him hard in the left buttock and sent him sprawling flat again.  
Hmmm….these shirts are well made—the buttons don’t pop off of someone yanks you off the floor by your collar. A useful thing to know. He was being shaken like a rag doll while a tide of shouted abuse washed over him. He was being pounded by feet and fists—possibly with his own desk lamp and the umbrella stand. He caught the odd shouted commentary here and there, such as “bigger idiot than that bad tempered little brat I had to beat sense into for trying human transmutation” and “if you walk out on those babies that are just learning to love you like a father, I’m going to---“. It was hard to focus when one’s head was being shoved into a wastepaper basket.  
A lot of the invective that accompanied a series of well-targeted punches was obscured by the sound of furniture splintering, glass being smashed to dust, filing cabinets being bounced against and, distantly, Ed being told to shut up and stay out of it “or else” and Alphonse struggling, trying to use calm logic alone to keep a frantic Colonel Hawkeye from shooting Roy’s assailant, who leveled a kick to Roy’s chest that finally left him sprawled flat on his back on the smashed remains of his antique office coffee table.  
He had been shot in the chest by an Ishballan he had once called a friend.  
He had survived.  
He had suffered major organ damage when Lust drove her claws straight through his body. He survived that attack and the hideous agony of cauterizing his own wounds.  
He had been crucified by Wrath, blinded by Truth and attacked by Father. He had, by guts and luck and the help of his friends,survived.  
And now….a housewife was beating the crap out of him.

And when she was done, Fuhrer President Roy Mustang staggered to his feet. “Are you going to be a good father to those babies?” Izumi demanded  
A trickle of blood dribbled out of his left nostril and over his upper lip. He ignored it. “Yes, Ma’am!”  
“You’re not going to walk out like some idiot because you think that’s what’s best for them , the way Hohenheim did to their father and their uncle?”  
“No, Ma’am!”  
Crackling black eyes turned sharply to Edward. He flinched visibly. “Are you,” her voice was softer now, “going to be a good husband to my boy? Will you love each other? Take care of each other?”  
“Husband?” Ed gawped at his teacher.  
She grabbed his right hand and held it up before Ed’s face. The ring Roy had sent Ed before his first flight—just for good luck, of course—still gleamed on the younger man’s finger. “What do you call that? Ed? And what do you call a man you want to spend the rest of your life with and help raise your children with? What do you call someone who is there for you, who shares the worst and the best of it—someone who’s with you even when you get in your airship or on your aeroplane and fly around the world---even when he’s a complete idiot?”  
Ed walked slowly over to Roy and the older man leaned on him for support. Ed gently ruffled the messy black hair. “I usually call him ‘bastard’”

Hawkeye had pulled out the cuffs. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Alphonse told her quietly. “I really wouldn’t.”  
After Izumi had walked away with a cheery wave, presumably to freshen up before joining the festivities with the children, the Colonel rushed in, guns drawn. “Fuhrer Mustang! Sir!” she gasped. “Forgive me, Sir! I was trying to stop her but Alphonse—“  
One look from Roy’s blackened eyes silenced her. “You are relieved of duty, Colonel Hawkeye. Return to your quarters and pack.”  
She paled. Her throat became suddenly tight. “Pack, Sir?”  
Roy rubbed his aching head and sighed heavily. “For about sixty days. You need a furlough. I’m sending you to Aerugo for….hmmm….a vineyard inspection, over in…” he glanced at Ed. “Help me out, will you?”  
“Ah…” Ed scratched his head then grinned. “Porto Cervo. Peehole’s family had land in that area. I’ll give him a call and see what he can come up with. ‘Sposed to be really beautiful. Lake country, big villas, very romantic.” He nudged Roy, who winced. “Think Major Havoc should go as an official envoy?”  
“Done. Now get out of here, Hawkeye. I can take care of myself.”  
Ed grinned wickedly. “No he can’t. He just let an old lady kick the shit out of him—“  
“I HEARD THAT!” A voice outside the door made Ed duck for cover behind his wounded lover.  
With as much dignity as he could muster, Roy shooed everybody but his lover out of the wreckage of his office, closed the double doors, locked them and leaned heavily against them for support, the brass door plate feeling very soothing and cool against his bruised face.  
A warm, tall body fitted itself into the curve of his aching back. “I think I cracked a rib or two.” Roy grunted in pain as his lover’s arms slide around his chest and squeezed very gently.  
“She’s like that,” was all Ed could answer.  
Roy let out a long sigh. “Give me your word, Ed. We are not raising our daughter to beat people up. Defend herself if need be, yes, of course. Protect others with alchemy—even firearms? I have no problem with that. But---“  
‘—beating the snot out of someone—“  
“---a wrench to the head or…shoving someone’s head in a filing cabinet drawer and slamming it shut…repeatedly…”  
“—I missed that part. You’re exaggerating.”  
“Sure FEELS like she did.” It hurt to breathe, and the first man or woman to offer him an aspirin would be awarded the Presidential Medal of Honor. “My point being, our daughter will not take after her adopted grandmother or her biological mother in that singular respect.”  
Since Winry’s wrench slinging days were over—and the sudden appearance of Dr. Pitt Renback, Ed reckoned, would further mellow her tempestuous temper, the odds were fairly good that Nina wouldn’t be pounding anybody into mush unless someone’s life depended on it.  
He nuzzled his face into Roy’s untidy hair. He might have been purpling up like a grape but he still smelled as good as ever. “Nope, with you around, I’m betting her primary weapon will be sarcasm.”  
Roy turned around and Ed whistled In surprise. “She really did a number on you. Did the same thing when she found out how I screwed up with Mom and Al.” He spit on his handkerchief and blotted a bit of blood off Roy’s lips before lightly kissing them. “We got that press luncheon in half an hour. We gotta cover this up.”  
He buzzed Maria Ross on the office intercom. “ This is Ed. Listen, can I borrow some of your makeup.” There was a crackle of static and from the speaker he heard a wail of horror. “Oh no…NOT AGAIN???” “Again?” Ed glanced over at Roy who looked innocent. He’d never told Edward of the morning after their first night as lovers when he’d begged cosmetics from Ross to cover up a neckful of livid love bites.   
Ed shrugged. “Women…go fig!”

…..TO BE (Finally) CONCLUDED in PART 2…..


	37. "HEY, HUGHES....?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s triumph in the air when Edward comes home after inventing the Aeroplane, and the peace with Aerugo is finally sealed by Roy (after having his *** handed to him by a furious family member in Part 1). The future looks bright and full of challenge…and Ed begins to contemplate taking a step towards a permanent arrangement with Roy....

WHOLE LIVES CHAPTER 37: CONCLUSION PT 2:”HEY, HUGHES…?”

By The Binary Alchemist, 2012

After all those months of separation, Ed’s groin throbbed nearly as much as Roy’s head. Dr. Knox had checked him out and Alphonse had used alkahestry to knit up two badly bruised ribs and several sprains but Roy was still going to be hurting like hell for quite awhile.

But there was an eager press outside clamoring for Edward, as well family and well-wishers celebrating out on the green. As much as Ed ached for some private moments of affection—and a quick blowjob—there were other responsibilities looming over them, the first of which required a little feminine intervention…

When Ed ducked out of the office to meet the press, Gracia Hughes was discreetly ushered in. Her mouth dropped into a perfect ‘o’ of astonishment at the splintered furniture, broken glass and the battered face of the man behind the imposing presidential desk. The ‘o’ became wider when he sheepishly held up a small compact of pressed powder and a tiny plastic pot of under eye concealer. “Gracia,” he asked earnestly, “I don’t know a damn thing about make up…” Then the corner of his firm mouth lifted into a hint of an ironic smile. “That’s a good thing, I’m guessing….?”

Half an hour later, after some private inquiries around the ladies on the staff to acquire additional cosmetic supplies, Roy could go out in public, even if he was wearing more foundation than Mr. Garfiel at a Rush Valley social soiree. “Tell them…mmmm, let’s see…oh, I’ve got it!” Gracia beamed. “Maes left one of his toys in your office and you tripped over it and landed face down on the coffee table.”

Roy grimaced a bit as he blinked at his still-puffy reflection. It was plausible and would put a family-friendly spin on what might have led to nasty speculation of a lover’s spat with Edward. “I believe my best friend married a genius. I ought to hire you as my publicist.”

Gracia laughed and waved off the jest. “I appreciate the thought.”

Roy turned around and she immediately quit laughing when she saw his expression. “You’re experienced with the media. You have a knack for talking to nearly anyone and making them welcome….”

She touched his arm and gently shook her head. “I deeply appreciate it, Roy—but I know what I’m best at. Navigating the political rapids isn’t where I want to be…but if you ever need my help---or a good home cooked dinner—or a friend to talk to, or a little girl to hug….we’re just five blocks away.”

###

The high point of the evening, at least as far as the crowd was concerned, was the showing of the newsreel footage that had been brought from Drachma for release in Amestris. It wasn’t the first time Ed had cringed at the herky-jerky black and white image of himself larger than life projected onto a screen or even a white sheet hastily hung up in the trees or across the side of a building. The hand cranked movie cameras showed him at slightly exaggerated speed, waving to the crowd, shaking hands with the Tsar and Tsarina and Lobachevsky, Maxim and Alexi clowning for the camera, Pyotir looking far too serious and Dr. Chen and Alphonse waving from their motorbike as they chased behind the Amestris from the ground.

Ed stared at himself critically. The man up on the screen was…well, damn it, he was rather good looking in his leather flight helmet, goggles and silk scarf. The cinematographer had mercifully cut the scene before he heard the broadcast about the hostage situation back home. They showed him pumping his fists in triumph and then cut to a very proud looking Roy saluting in front of crossed Amestrian and Drachman flags. The footage was silent, but the military band accompanied with all appropriate ruffles and flourishes of brass and drums.

It might have gone to his head, however momentarily, if his best friend from school hadn’t elbowed him sharply in the ribs. “Just remember, hotshot,” Dr. Pitt Renback grinned, “I can still out run you, out jump you, throw a spit wad further, eat more jelly beans, catch more fish—and I’m still taller than you!”

But there was an even bigger coup that was delivered by a smirking Fuhrer Mustang to his lover. “You might want to read this. It’s from Prince Claudio.”

The whoop of triumph that accompanied Ed’s pounding on the table with excitement grabbed everyone’s attention. According to the missive, the nation of Aerugo would be announcing at New Year’s the establishment of Villa Rinacimento, a Collegium whose primary emphasis would be on the fine arts but would include a secondary focus on the study of electronics. The field was still very much in its infancy, but it had been the Aerugoans, well before anyone else, who invented the telegraph, the vacuum tube, wireless signal transmission and the radios which had now become such an essential part of military and civilian life.

It had been an embarrassing international scandal that Bradley’s agents had not only stolen teleography and radiography from the Aerugoans but produced an army signal corps operator named DeForrest who loudly and publicly claimed credit for these inventions. Worse still, when questioned by the Central Times about his patented Audion tube that made radio possible, the abashed officer was not even able to coherently explain how the damned thing worked. Needless to say, that theft had been held over Roy’s head as one of the significant reasons why the Aerugoans were reluctant to have anything to do with Roy’s envisioned world wide renaissance of science and alchemy.

And now—in no small way thanks to the solving of the Prince of the Dawn’s plumbing problems and the efforts of Alex Armstrong and Dr. Knox over the summer--Aerugo was joining the Collegium of Alexandra as a full international partner in the new year. Even more exciting news, they were sending no less than Signor Marconi himself—the true father of wireless and radio and one of the most brilliant inventors in the known world—to teach at the Hohenheim Institute this spring. In addition, one of their top physicists would journey to Stoltovgrad to take Bacalla’s place. Two eminent surgeons would intern and teach at the Chrysanthemum Palace in Xing and a team of agriculturists would be welcomed in Ishbal. It was even better than they had hoped.

Alexi leaned over Ed’s shoulder to read and then turned anxiously to Maxim.

“Ну теперь мы находимся в него. Если Aerugoans отправить Маркони, мы должны принести доктор Тесла из изгнания и доказать что беспроводной драхма изобрел первый!” (“Well, now we are in for it. If the Aerugoans send Marconi, we will have to bring Doctor Tesla out of exile and prove that Drachma invented wireless first!”)

“Da! Interesting times, it will be!” Maxim winked. “Perhaps we take this Marconi out to hunt Devotchkas with Alphonse?”

Alphonse overheard and socked his friend gently on the arm. “Start another war between Aerugo and Amestris with your damned devotchka hunt, Tovarich, and I’ll make sure Lobachevsky has you mucking out pigsties for the rest of your days!”

“You did it!” Ed crowed to his lover. “I don’t know how the hell you pulled it off, but you did it!” He pounded Roy on the back, realizing one instant too late that in view of Roy’s recent bruising that this was probably the wrong thing to do. “Uh…sorry,” he mumbled contritely. “Ah…I…guess that means…you get to top tonight….?”

The loss of alchemic skill had only sharpened Ed’s appetite to explore the sciences he had scoffed at when he was younger. It had been sweat and science and cooperation that had taken Edward Elric aloft, not transmutation circles. Now more than ever he appreciated that there must be room for the scientist, the alchemist and the craftsman to learn to work together and not against each other as in Amestris’ past.

Izumi was right: alchemy was not a cure all, and he would never underestimate the value of hard work again.

He glanced at Roy, now talking softly to Elycia while Maes and Nina perched on his lap, completely unselfconscious of his power as both an alchemist and as a world leader. He was just a guy, really. Just a man in his mid-thirties who had a crazy dream that the world could somehow be better than it was, and that it might be to everybody’s benefit to spend less on tanks and bombs and more on investing in the future of Amestris and her people and building bridges, not blowing them up as Bradley had done long ago.

“Ours is a history written in blood,” Roy had told the nation. “We have annexed and conquered. We have taken much and given little, with perpetual war the inheritance we have left to our children. And in all of our wars, each bullet claimed not just a human life but potential. What great minds have been lost? What wonders will never be invented—what art will never be created? Each time we take a life in a conflict that might have been avoided, we rob the future just as surely as we rob families on both sides of their loved ones.”

Yeah, Edward decided. I can spend the rest of my life and raise a family with a guy who thinks like that. In full view of everyone, not giving a good goddamn if the press was watching, he moved in close, slid his arm around Roy’s shoulder, and without hesitation leaned in and kissed the President of Amestris full on the mouth. Then he whispered under his breath, “the makeup isn’t too bad—but that rouge is definitely not your color, jackass…”

###

Throughout this very long and exhausting day in the public eye Edward had been forced to keep his urge to jump on Mustang and hump his parts raw simmering on the back burner until they could get alone behind locked doors, preferably somewhere where the sound of curses, slurping, moans and the sound of bed slats breaking wouldn’t frighten the children. All day long he kept excusing himself to the men’s room to deal with a persistent erection that threatened to burst right through his zipper. Don’t wanna poke someone’s eye out with this thing he told himself after the third time when a hot, stealthy glance from across the room had lit up his limbic system like the Central skyline after dark.

Once the kids had been tucked in with Winry and Izumi and the rest of the family in the guest wing, Ed guided his weary lover upstairs for a long hot shower. “I guess we better be careful not to make your sprains any worse,” he ventured carefully as he unbuttoned, unzipped and carefully peeled the perfectly tailored uniform off his battered mate. “I’m glad didn’t see any kicks aimed towards your balls.”

Roy smirked at him. “Doesn’t mean you can’t kiss them all better though, does it?”

When they entered the bathroom they were surprised by an elegant silver tray on the marble counter. It held an iced bottle of champagne, two glasses, some massage oil…and a bottle of aspirin. Roy popped two tablets in his mouth and washed them down with a swallow of cold bubbly. “Remind me to give Sebastian a raise.”

“Why not?” Ed rubbed himself against his lover’s hip. “You’ve sure as hell given me one. Let’s get wet.”

When they embraced under the spray the raw physicality of the moment threatened to buckle Ed’s knees, both flesh and metal. From the acceleration of the pulse he could feel against his chest, it was clear Roy’s need matched his own. It was like a shock to the system, this skin-to-skin intimacy after such a long separation, and it was all he could do to resist rubbing himself to bliss, cock to cock, as he locked himself tightly around that slick, beautiful body. All the clever toys of Dr. Chen and Mr. Spenser had filled him and taken the edge off his hunger but plunging into a Gate of Paradise or straddling a rubber phallus couldn’t compare with the heat and smell and strength and—“ohhh god!”—the sweet, greedy intrusion of a tongue gliding into his mouth while possessive hands gripped his bottom, clenching and caressing.

It was in his mouth before his hands could capture it. His knees simple wouldn’t hold him up any longer. Iron hard, darkly flushed and as his tongue touched the crown he was rewarded with a small spurt of pearly moisture and a low, animal cry. “Careful, now,” Ed warned, wagging a finger in warning before slipping it into the hot crevice between the cheeks his lover spread wide for him. “Old guys like you, not sure how many shots you got in you after a long day.”

“I’ll be more than happy to demonstrate. Unlike you, I have been in complete control all day—“

“—you have also been eating analgesics because you had the snot kicked out of you.”

Roy offered him an elegant sneer. ‘---which in no way has dampened my ardor. I have endured a most uncomfortable erection all day and I intend to tie your ankles to the bed post, cover you in oil from head to toe and invade every available orifice until Sebastian brings in my breakfast tray---uhhhggghhh!!! Shit!!---and….”

The finger crooked inside him. “And??”

“—k-keeppp y-you tied…tied..YESSS!!!…until…”

“…until I get loose…and bend you over…like…THIS…”

“…!!!!!…”

“---and pay you back, Mustang!” A tongue slithered exactly where Roy wanted it to go, followed by another finger…then another….then Ed sat back on his heels and grinned up at his mate with feigned concern. “Oh…but we mustn’t hurt that sore back of yours…all that—“the fingers curled and scissored and another spurt of moisture dripped down to be caught on the back of Ed’s hand and quickly lapped up before it could be washed away, “….pounding…oh, and there’s a nasty bruise where she kicked you in the ass…” Shoving Roy’s legs further aside his head ducked between trembling thighs and he sucked lightly on that cusp of taut muscle behind his lover’s balls. He lifted Roy’s knee and positioned his foot firmly on the edge of the tub. “One of these nights,” Ed commented, his words coming out in urgent puffs of breath, “you’re going to show me exactly how you used to sliiiiiide that hard rubber cock inside. I’m gonna take the tip of it and slowwwwly rub it…right…here…and watch you open up for it. I’ll slick it up with my own come and I’m gonna screw it….reallllll slow….right here…..and you’re gonna tell me how my cock feels so much bigger….and hotter…"  
"--Well, hotter, anyway---mmmmmff!!!”   
Ed ducked his head around for another sucking kiss and then struggled to his feet. “And I’m gonna tell you how nothing is ever gonna feel this goddamn good as THIS---“ he yanked his fingers out and slid in to the root, roughly yanking his lover’s hips against his groin.

Roy hissed and flung back his head, eyes tight as the spray beat down on his upturned face. There was a hot mouth at his ear, growling obscenities as Edward plunged and rooted mindlessly inside him, one hand squeezing and frantically yanking at Roy’s cock. “Better be enough, old man---better be enough inside your balls to last me all night---because as soon as you can walk you better turn me loose on the sheets and make good on your promise….because lemme tell you, getting pounded…by….my….goddamned…HUSBAND…beats an assfull of..AHHHEEEEEEE!!!! Ohh…ohh….h-hhhnnnnn!! Tight-tightyeahohhhfuckkkksqueezeit-squeezeithard…yeahRoy…FUUUUCKKK!!!!!!!!””

The bruises that dappled Ed’s inner thigh were from hard, sucking kisses, not fists. His calf rested on a sweat-slicked shoulder as Roy straddled his other thigh, cock hard and high again, slowly drawing out the toy he had been churning inside his lover’s body “for comparison’s sake”. He slowly fisted his own hardness so Edward could watch, capturing the drops of bitter-sweetness he milked from his cock and offering his wet fingers for Ed to suck on.

“You’re still wearing my ring.”

“You ain’t getting’ it back.”

“Did I ask for it?”

“You’re not that stupid.” Ed lifted his hand and displayed the gleaming band of gold that bore Roy’s first crude attempt to create an array device when he was still in his teens. “You gave me this….” The hand gently stroked a pale chest, directly over Roy’s heart. “—and this….” The fingers caressed and explored down the scarred, muscled torso, coming to rest at the base of his shaft. “---and this. No givebacks. You’re stuck with me, you son of a bitch, vows or no vows, and if that makes you my husband like Teacher says, well…fuck it.”

Roy pressed a fond kiss on Edward’s knee and smiled down at him. ‘Does that make you my wife?”

Ed leaned up on his elbows, scowling, pointing angrily at his crotch. “Does this look like a fuckin’ pussy to you? No? All right, jerk. If I can ram your hole and make you scream like I did in the shower, I can call myself any goddamn thing I want to---and wife sure as hell ain’t one of ‘em!”

“Oh?” Removing the leg from his shoulder, Roy slid down until they were chest to chest, hip to hip and mouth to mouth. They clung together like that for a very, very long time. “So,” he eventually whispered in his lover’s ear. ‘What do you want to call yourself?”

“Yours, you bastard. And don’t you forget it!”

###

“Better be some motherfuckin’ coffee out here or I’m gonna drag you outta that tent by your balls.”

Ed had wriggled out of a shared sleeping bag a few minutes ago to pee and the dawn was so crisp and wild-smelling and so goddamned wonderful he decided to enjoy the stillness and watch the sun come up.

He reached for a towel off the back of his camp chair but it was wet from the thunderstorm he only barely remembered, having been rowdily fucked through most of it before coming out to rebuild the fire, eat a quick meal and diving back inside for a rematch inside the sleeping bag. He wasn’t especially cold, and far as he knew nobody else was watching. Hawkeye and Havoc were probably banging each other’s brains out on some sunny, secluded balcony in Aerugo, Al was in Creta, doing things with Julia Creighton that would make the Bakery Girls jealous, making Ruby mad and making poor, obsessed May Chang sob on Dr. Chen’s shoulders. No, the only person that might be handing around as sentry was Ruby—and after Drachma there probably wasn’t much she hadn’t seen of Ed, buzzing around like a blowfly on a roadkill while he was wanking off under the trees and missing the hell out of the man who was still snoring in the tent inside a sleeping bag that would have to be decontaminated when they got back, soaked through as it was in assorted body fluids, sweat and melted butter. “We could wash it in the creek but then we’d knock up half the fish in the river downstream,” Ed chuckled aloud. “Now where the---oh, there it is! Hope the damn thing is as easy to work as Peehole said.”

Roy had loaded the Aerugoan coffee press—a gift from Prince Claudio that Armstrong brought back for Ed—with the proper amount and grind of some hellishly expensive brew Bacalla had shipped to them in hopes of obtaining a presidential patent so he could print “Presidential Reserve” on every tin sold and charge three times what it was worth. An old battered tin army coffee pot full of water was over the remains of their campfire, steam rising from the dented spout.

Ed poured the scalding water to the fill line, stirred the resultant fragrant mess, guesstimated about three minutes then slowly pushed down the plunger. The resultant brew met with his approval. Peehole would get that patent after all. 

He hiked naked down to the stream, coffee pot in hand, to rinse off and refill so Roy could make him another pot when he woke up. Dipping the much-abused pot into the chilly water he noticed something painted on the side:

HUGHES/M #867-5309-911

Ed sank down on a dew-covered rock and studied the coffee pot, dented and scratched and looking for all the world as if it had been dragged through a war over twenty years ago.

He smiled. “Hey, Hughes…? It’s me, Y’know…Ed?” He glanced up towards the trees. The branches were moving in a light breeze and already the rising sun was beginning to dapple through and warm his face. It was going to be a fine day, no clouds, little chance of rain.

“Look…sorry about the digging around the graveyard shit—and the stuff with the flowers. Looks like Gracia and Roy got their shit straightened out. Elycia’s happy. Life’s pretty damned good---but then you know that already, right?” He ran his finger over the name and registration number and he nodded. “He’s gonna be okay. I’ll make sure of it. Don’t sweat, all right? See you when we see you. Over and out.”

Roy had crawled outside when Ed got back to their campsite. When he saw what Ed hand in his hand he tensed visibly.

“Found this on the fire. You must’ve have been dragging it around in your pack since the academy days.” He leaned forward and kissed Roy. “Still pretty damned useful after all these years. I think we’ll keep it around.”

……NOT THE END…..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: The Further Adventures of Edward, Roy, the Elric Kids, Alphonse and friends will
> 
> Continue in “OUR LIVES”, which will take us fifteen years into Amestris’ future as Roy prepares to make good on his ‘520 Cenz Promise’ to Edward—but as Amestris makes the move from military state to full democratic republic, Roy finds his life being rewritten by an unscrupulous biographer during his last months in office as Fuhrer, Riza is unprepared for life away from Roy’s side, young Maes and Nina are setting Hohenheim Institute on its collective ear---and Ed and Roy plan for the Presidential Wedding of the century….Thanks for Reading!
> 
> \---With Much Love and Deep Appreciation from The Binary Alchemist, June 24, 2012 1:40pm EST

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Ignition](https://archiveofourown.org/works/428738) by [luxquintessence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxquintessence/pseuds/luxquintessence)




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